"Do you think I deserve your full attention?" "I have a legal obligation to say no."

  I'd like to be a genius. I want kids to read about me in history books, or math books, or English literature book, or any kind of books, really. I don't even care if they hate writing reports on me, and end up plagiarizing the entire thing at midnight. I mean, I'd like to inspire a few of them, but I'd be content with boring them to death. 

   But here's the thing: I'm afraid there's no more genius out there for me to grasp. All the theorems have been discovered by Pythagoras, Georg Cantor, Euclid, and Isaac Newton. Steve Jobs may be dead, but he already invented the computer. I can't create the telephone or the light bulb. I'm broke and I'm broken.

   So instead of becoming a genius, I'm sitting on the couch. I'm watching daytime television and renting movies. I'm failing my classes. I'm not a genius, and I'm discovering what I am. I'm only a combination of fears and phobias.

  I'm a venustraphobic, I'm afraid of beautiful women. I'm afraid of fading into the background while the spotlight blinds them. I'm afraid I'll never be one.

   I'm a spectrophobic. It's not only mirrors, it's all reflective surfaces. Keep them away, cover them in duck tape, shatter them. I don't care, as long as I never have to look into their depths.

   I'm suffering from ereuthophobia: The fear of red lights. Don't you dare tell me to stop. Let me go, let me speed through the intersection, don't even tell me to slow down.

   I'm a gamophobic. Put away that ring, your diamond, get off of your knee. It's not worth it. You can keep your love, I've got my cats.

   I have barophobia. My feet are cement. I wish I could float, I want to live on the moon. 

   I'm scared. I'm so, so scared. But this is me. I'm no genius. I'm just a girl, trying to be remembered. 

"I was drunk and angry and stupid–"

"And blogging."

"And blogging."