I’m a notorious fidgeter. I don’t stop moving, ever. In fact, not moving makes me anxious.
In school I constantly have a pen in my hand. If I’m not writing, I’m drawing on myself. If I’m not doing that I’m drawing on paper. If I’m not doing any of those things I’m twirling the pen around in my hand and twisting the cap.
I bounce my leg too, but less frequently because it hurts my knee. My fidgeting is mostly focused on my hands, face, and just general upper body. If there’s no pen in my hand, my hands will be picking at my nails, rubbing my ear, moving through my hair. If not that, I’m rolling my shoulders and wiggling in my seat and twisting my arms. If not that either, I’ll be yawning, blinking, making faces as I imagine my characters doing the same.
I’m constantly moving. There’s no such thing as “still” for me. I’m whirring, always wanting to go. This could be because of the generation I was born in, or it could be because I’m still a kid and being forced to sit all day.
All. Day. I wouldn’t do well at a desk job. I’d get bored and doodle all over everything and stickynote my entire cubicle.
Speaking of jobs, I landed myself a paper route. Yeah, not the best thing ever, but at least it’s a start. (Not the worst thing ever but I don’t really enjoy it that much. But hey, it gets me active.)
Anyways, I’m getting slightly tired (I actually took my sleeping pills tonight; it’s nine thirty now.) and have a few other miscellaneous tasks to do.
So yeah. Until next time.