Most of the time I get the distinct impression that I'm just not very interesting to other people. Which is okay, you know, I can handle it.
But still, it does tend to annoy me sometimes. When I'm talking, telling what I think is a fascinating, or at the very least, a mildly response-worthy story, and Dad, or Nick, or Mum, yes, usually Mum, gets that glazed look in their eyes. Or when I'm telling such a story and they interrupt to talk about something completely different. Or they just don't let me start the story at all, but escape rapidly and with a joyful little laugh.
Other people tend to treat me like this as well. People do not hang off my every word or opinion on a subject, any subject, ever. Part of this could be that I don't have much life experience. Or any at all, really. Things which have affected me have tended to be other people's doing. I've not been one who has engineered their own destiny (which makes the fact that I believe we can a rather moot point.) So, I can understand, I don't always have a lot to say, and what I do have to say may not be all that relevant.
The thing is, I interest me. All the time. I manage to do it over all sorts of trivial things. I interest myself on issues of importance, silliness and a combination of the two. I respond to myself enthusiastically. I think I should be content that as long as I interest myself, it doesn't actually matter if I engage anyone else.
Yet I crave for other people to find me interesting, even if I concede I'm probably not. That was something I wrote down at the age of thirteen, the fictitious object of my desire wrote me an imaginary letter in which he said "she's not especially likeable, but she is interesting." I was a cheerful sort then, too. I am the ultimate in the attention seeker, I suppose.
So this leaves me in a conundrum. And, funnily enough, at my chosen profession of Teacher. If I can't interest people in myself, well, I may as well interest them in others. Whilst they're still young and impressionable.