Entry #928: Dizzying.

Filed under Things Only 1 or 2 People On This Planet Know About Me, Myself Included™, is that I have a peculiar obsession with handwriting. Not only do I secretly maneuver my way in situations that allow me full access to the handwriting of every single person I know, but I also transform in to a one-track-minded monster capable only of drooling and staring if I'm in a public place and get to see someone's, anyone's, handwriting.

Work. The grocery store. A date. You know, whenever.

This is the part where I expect everyone I know will say something like, "So miss smartypants. Tell me. What does my handwriting say about me?" I charge $125 an hour and a kitten for this kind of classified data, just so you know.

The real key to my obsession was that it started at a young age - and I'm talking so young here people that I wasn't even able to read or write yet. The OCD can be traced back to my mom (um, hi mom!) for constantly keeping me outfitted with paper, pens, books, and (smelly) markers everywhere we went (including church). So much so that I would literally spend hours upon hours marking up church bibles and songbooks pretending I was old enough to know how to print - or even better, the kama-sutra of penmanship, write in cursive.

I admit, it's entirely possible this compulsion is genetic since I know both my father and grandfather have/had similar obsessions with their own handwriting (I'm even told they had contests, but my grandfather would constantly pull the "I win because I said so!" card. And, of course, my dad bought it every time. "Curses!" his 12 year old self would say.). Incidentally, my father has the most beautiful handwriting I've ever seen, ever, in my entire life. No really, his handwriting is so gorgeous I'd put it up against that there guy who done writ the Declaration of Independence 'er whatever any day, any time.

So, yeah. Back to the point because I know there is one. Or at least I think there *was* one. Anyway... I'm totally obsessed with penmanship, which of course means I'm totally obsessed with my *own* penmanship. I'm mostly confident there's only one person in the world who knows my dirty little secret (well, until now that is), and I can't be sure but I think it was fascination I read on his face after coming clean.

"Let me see it," he said.

"Um, okay," I said... but then continued, "I need context."

Instead of arguing with his blank stare, I just pulled the napkin out from under my wine glass and started scribbling in each of 3 distinct styles.

1. Cursive writing: Beautiful, perfectly perfect letters imbued with the slightest of slants. The only time I ever break out the cursive writing is when I'm writing checks or signing my name. Why do I do this? I have no clue. Maybe it's like my money is more meaningful when I take the care of blessing each and every letter with the gift of curve. Or, uh, maybe it's just a dirty old habit without reason. I do lots of things that don't have a point - just ask any of my ex-boyfriends.
2. Printing: It's difficult to qualify the printing prowess, but basically it's a whole lotta beautiful that can be done *SUPER MEGA LIGHTNING* fast and still win awards. I've seriously practiced this style hours upon hours over the years because I have a life. There, I said it. The style of *printing* is probably engaged 70% of the time.
3. Printing in caps: Another style I use only in the most specific of situations like, for example, addressing an envelope, making lists, writing down a fake number for some college-aged guy at some bar who won't stop drunkenly pestering me for the digits, or as the header of anything. Printing-in-caps is like my own personal H1, H2, and H3 system... but a system based in reality.

On this year's list of my possible Nanowrimo subjects is 'The designer's guide to handwriting interpretation'... or as my bossy publisher would probably re-name it after claiming that no one reads that boring stuff, let's spice it up a bit with something like, 'Does he really love me? Let his handwriting tell you!' Or '10 tips to a better sex life.'

You'd think a childhood of OCD would have keyed *someone* in my life to the fact I would someday be a designer and that, in fact, you can make a living off typography. Alas, it didn't, no one had a clue, and that's why I gradually started receiving barbies each and every holiday instead of art supplies.

In conclusion, you now know where my affinity for pink comes from.

(Dizzying, isn't it?)