Intelligent/thick/mature/silly

Sometimes I really question my ability to function in this world. I like to think of myself as a relatively intelligent individual. I am well read, and know a lot of useless information that seems to come in handy more often then I would like to admit. I know that doesn't make any sense, but if you know me well enough, you know what I am talking about.

I seem to a lead a double life, but each life manages to smear some quality of itself into its opposite.

I researched, planned and implemented a project that cost slightly more than a medium-sized house, striving to meet the needs of about 15 different people in a short time frame and under a lot of heat to make sure things ran smoothly. And I was successful. In Victoria, I am a mature, intelligent professional. But my room is a pig-sty.

In Nanaimo, I can't seem to get my homework done. I mean I get it done, but not in calm, cool and collected fashion. Oh no, I have to panic at the last minute. Sure it increases the sense of accomplishment (hey, look at the grade I got, and I wrote it the night before it was due!), but that isn't the intelligent, well-read way to do things. I'm less mature, and less intelligent when I am up here. But my room, it's freaking organized, to the point that I amaze myself. And now that I live up here, what about my room in Victoria, you ask? Still a disorganized mess.

The human brain is a very strange thing. Why can't I be consistent across the board?

Because I am me, in all my glory.

I am Dave, here me roar!