Know Thyself

It seems that flourishes choreographed by nimble fingers and preserved on paper can tell stories. A languid post-dinner conversation brought out the graphologist amongst us, incognito hitherto. And then it followed, from the Oracle - first few pages of a green notebook filled with my long hand written patiently nay neatly - that I am "Interfering but withdrawn, focussed but unruffled by nitty-gritties, hypocritical loner (meaning secretly prefering company to loneliness nay solitude. I call literary license to my rescue.) who dwells in the past now and then, is straightforward in dealings and makes half-hearted attempts to gel with the world and last but definitely not the least, does not put things once taken, back where they belong." The usual breathless questions from the wide-eyed urchin and positive answers from the soothsayer did not follow because the latter regarded this more an exercise in observation. Instead we calculated the percentage accuracy and zeroed in on one hundred percent. The score was a revelation to me - not the expertise of the graphologist but that of the judge. Looks like I know enough about myself to say "Check Check" to character analyses, astrological predictions and palm readings, thus shaping, casting myself into a mould, letting it dry, becoming immutable and writing myself into a corner.