Today I thought I’d write a Ponderland post.
At the end of my birthday, TBG said, “Pola, I think you’re really eccentric.”
“Is that… a good thing?” I ventured. Previously she’s only ever called me ‘a contradiction’.
The geometric definition of eccentric means unequally aligned through the centre of a circle, or something ‘off centre.’ For some reason this intrigued me far more than the literary one, someone unusual who deviates from the norm.
I said intriguing, not positive; and a certain prerequisite of friendship is that you like each other and I thought that this might be at threat in this instance. I’m insecure like that.
“It just is.”
If I had a penny every time people told me “It just is.” or “You just are…!” I’d be rich.
“You’re eccentric, and I’ve met a lot of people – real big shots, from broadsheet columnists to whoever and…
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