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arasirsul's Journal

Name:
J.D.
Birthdate:
28 February
External Services:
  • arasirsul@livejournal.com
Schools:
Let's start from the beginning. Depending on your particular theology, either some dude named God said "Let there be light" or some super-compressed ball of matter exploded or some similar set of pretty unbelievable events happened, and then there was a universe. I wasn't there, I couldn't tell you. Either way, a very long time of pretty much irrelevant things happened. We tend to refer to these events as history, but let's face it, nobody pays attention in history class, so the next thing that happened to this newly created universe that was important at all was my birth. You disagree? Should have paid more attention in history, maybe you could come up with a better one. Oh, you think _that_ was more important? Yeah, and look at 'im now. All the stuff he did in those history books, and where is he now? Dead. Anyhow, as I was saying-- I was born. I moved around the country a lot, went through grade school, suffered the usual humiliation, thinking all the while that nobody ever goes through what I went through (sound familiar? Maybe you're important, too...) (naaah) and eventually went off to college.

College is an interesting place. College is where we quit being somebody else and begin being ourselves. It can take a while to figure out who that is, but fortunately, I spent eleven years at it, and had a pretty good idea by the time I was done. Unfortunately, college is also where we learn that sure, we're now being ourselves, but let's face it: nobody cares. You're a student number, or a social security number, or an employee identification code, or a username. I am all of those things. I'm also a picture and a signature on a drivers' license and passport. I get up in the morning, get dressed in the usual corporate attire, and drive to the office, where I while away the hours as a photo on a security badge and a user with a "system administrator" field in the cardkey system.

Fortunately, the corporate taskmasters are lenient, and I get to leave every now and again. When I do that, I become other things entirely. I become a signature and a photo on an SCCA membership card; a line on the results from the latest autocross. I become a userid on a technology forum; a nickname on an online chat program, a scrawl on the "Player" line of an RPG character sheet. I'm an email address, a poorly painted car in iRacing, a copyright line on the caption of a photograph.

With any luck, however, I'll avoid being an entry in a history text.

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