“Who are you?” Oh my lord — huge question!
Given one of those dingleberry “self-identify-in-50-words-or-less” quizzes, I’d be hard-pressed to concoct an answer that makes anything resembling logical sense. As a year-round RVer, I’m all about exploration — but nothing’s quite so comforting as returning to a home port for some tribal reconnect. My top priority is whatever’s “new” — yet I’m a sentimental sucker for reliving the past. I’m a highly-spiritual non-theist, a bleeding-heart who adores personal accountability.
What can I say? “Walking contradiction in terms” is a GROSS understatement!
Some days I work dawn-to-dusk, others I’m lucky if I put on pants. (“Commando” equals “ready-for-action!”) Regardless, I’m each-second-of-every-minute-engaged in a perpetual process of simplifying my existence. Yet there’s not a single frigging moment of moderation in my day — I’m thrive-y-est going 90 miles an hour, mere steps ahead of the few-too-many-irons-in-the-fire that perennially threaten to singe my delicate tush.
I’m pierced, I’m tattooed, I’ve a pet tarantula and an unhealthy passion for skull decor — but I squee at pics of baby platypi in fedoras or mice holding tiny teddy bears. My idealist-self sees the world in terms of possibility — while my dark side’s fascinated by holocaust lore, serial killers, and the bottom-most chasms to which humans have sunk. I’m an optimistic cynic. A serious-minded smart-aleck. A joyously exuberant thinker. (And the hardest working lazy person you’ll meet!) I openly admit that I’m inconsistency incarnate, but that’s what makes me so damned entertaining. (Or so I’m told by those who lie to keep me quiet.)
If you’re looking for a shrinking violet, I’m most assuredly NOT your gal! “Spitﬁre” is the word most often used to describe this particular brand of redhead — strong-minded, adventurous, unceasingly intellectually curious, and largely incapable of boredom. (Your stereotypical extrovert!)
I pet any animal that crosses my path (whether they like it or not) — converse with every sapien I meet (whether they like it or not). And while I’ll happily play “crazy Aunt Ramona” for your crotch-droplings, I don’t want or need my own. (The best kids are always those I can give back once the fun’s done!)
I consume books/movies (especially non-ﬁction and documentaries) like food. But I also believe that it ain’t a good day unless you end up dirty and bleeding. My musical tastes are all over the board — a typical playlist might include Beethoven’s 7th, some Ella, a little Nine Inch Nails, followed by a touch of Conchords-TMBG-Garfunkel-And-Oates-style foolishness. You couldn’t pay me to watch televised sports (although you can give me a LOT of alcohol and I might agree). However, I do love the occasional live slap-shot, especially if I’m guaranteed a good hockey ﬁght. (I’m largely pacifist, but come on — blood bounces on ice!)
As far as I’m concerned, “new day” equals “costume party” — glitter, wigs, crazy hats, themed outfits, and military surplus wear are the norm. But I’m also on an endless quest for extreme dress-up opportunities. (Faires or Cons or Burns — pretty much any excuse to don fangs, poke black-out contacts in my eyes, slather on some body paint, and legitimately run around half-naked in public.) I gots nine piercings above the neck, an ever-expanding collection of pretty sweet ink, and I can rock a boardroom blazer (paired with biker boots and a mini skirt) like nobody’s business. I will fashion you to DEATH!
Been self-employed for nearly 20 years, a full-timer for almost a decade, and not especially good at living a “conventional” life since birth. I’m a modern Renaissance woman, a proud jackass-of-all-trades. (Us career-A.D.D.ers would rather die than settle for just one job title. That’s why I’m a fixer/ass-kicker and a not-so-tortured artist, a talking head and a wordsmith, a philosopher and a wanderluster — all at the same time!)
I’ve been told (repeatedly) that Vesuvius would have a hard time keeping up with me. But folks who call me “energetic” are being kind. (I’m closer to hypomanic, and would certainly have been medicated as a child if Ritalin tablets were handed out like Lifesavers in the 70s — the way they are now.)
I talk fast and am genetically lacking a functional volume control. (“Inside voice?” What is this thing of which you speak?) I must also have some Italian mixed in with my Scots-Irish background, much as I flail while conversing. (Wanna shut me up for good? Handcuffs.) Best of all, I’m blessed with a multifarious excess of ideas that keeps me going nonstop for days on end — that is, until I run face-first into a brick wall.
Think ferret. GO-GO-GO-GO-GO-GO-GO-GO-GO-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
It’s corny, but I’m also the quintessential student of life. Every soul I encounter comes equipped with a paradigm-changing lesson — so I work hard to wake up surrounded by the most fascinating freaks possible. (I’m the smartest person in the room? Time to find a new room!) A semi-pro sociologist, I can’t stop analyzing the world around me — picking up new ideas, sticking them in my pocket, taking them home to examine later like a kid collecting rocks. (Until mom forces me to choose my one favorite and toss the rest.)
Combine a plethora of double-espresso-strong opinions with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, the end result is a never-ending game of “devil’s advocate” — where NO subject (politics, religion, parenting, sex, money, plastic surgery) is taboo. I affectionately drive my peeps nuts, grilling them about anything and everything that crosses my mind. (Though I’ve swapped childishly innocuous “why-is-the-sky-blue?” queries for more annoying imponderables like, “What if there were no such thing as a hypothetical question?”)
At my core, I have a Scarlett-O’Hara-sized “passion for living” — and I mean that in the most outrageous Clark Gable voice you can dream up. I’m happiest when I’m busting through barriers (even if I break my neck and kill a dozen innocent bystanders in the process). I’ll try just about anything once (except rocky mountain oysters or haggis). I derive immense joy from attempting that which I’ve never done before (despite the tremendous likelihood of failing miserably). And I couldn’t imagine better last words than, “Hey guys! Watch this!” (Or maybe, “Hold my drink!”)
I’m the most lovable pain-in-the-ass on the block. And even with all my faults, I must be doing something right — I’ve been a-suckin’ the marrow out of life for more than 40 years, and ain’t choked on the bone yet.
Undoubtedly TMI (par for the course), but certainly a fair summation. If I haven’t scared you away by now, feel free to delve deeper. But proceed at your own risk — you have been warned!
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Ramona Creel is an award-winning 15-year veteran organizer and member of the National Association Of Professional Organizers. As well as having birthed “The A-To-Z Of Getting Organized,” Ramona is also the author of “The Professional Organizer’s Bible: A Slightly Irreverent And Completely Unorthodox Guide For Turning Clutter Into A Career”—and the creator of more than 200 “quick-start” business tools and templates for use by productivity professionals. She writes seven different blogs, has worked with hundreds of clients, and has delivered scores of presentations on getting organized. Ramona resides on the roads of America as a full-time RVer—living and working in a 29-foot Airstream. Learn more at and RamonaCreel.com.
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