Sentience in a seed-pod

So here we have one (1) times South African male, 28. 1.87 meters or 6 feet two inches, pretty lean, looks good in mirrors when well lit from above. Dark hair on its last tour of duty, pale baby-smooth skin with random hairiness on face ala Cheech and Chong. Wears glasses to correct middling astigmatism and enhance appearance of erudition.

I know too little, and I care too much. I don't worry about big things, but I niggle about small things. I'm all or nothing, frequently nothing. I'm lazy, but happy. I have a good sense of humour, but I don't do jokes. I handstand compulsively. I don't smoke except passively, I drink only in company and to tell you the truth I don't like the alcohol, just the ceremony of getting pissed with friends. I like girls' bodies but most people who meet me think otherwise. I'm fine with that, except that even though girls say they want a sensitive guy who doesn't burp, fart or hog the remote, what they really want is to be taken roughly by some scarcely tameable rogue I am not.

I train people for a living. I work for a software company. I travel a lot which I like, but sometimes I have to write courses which is crap. Of course, actually delivering those courses is great most of the time. I love a captive audience.

My ongoing "novel" is still four chapters in, and I'm in one of the fallow stages, although I can feel I might write again soon. I wish I could be workmanlike about it, or indeed, about anything.

So, 28. Today. What do I have to say for myself? Same thing I always say, I guess: no plan, no rhyme or reason, but I am having fun, so we're ok, for now.