I’ve legally changed my name to Hamish. I’ve experimented with different names before. The last few years I’ve made half-hearted attempts to go by Mitchell, but truly, it’s the same as Mitch, and a name given to me by an actual child molester, so how strictly would you imagine I would try to enforce it? I’ve often used the name Mitchell in formal contexts, but if I felt like the person I’ve been talking to was friendly, it’s been Mitch. If I have wanted to keep my distance from a person, it’s Mitchell. Mitchell also existed through a few hectic years after I turned thirty. Mostly as a way to hold on to my own head through a wild ride of sheer insanity. Ultimately the whole thing drew too much attention, which is antithetical to how I actually act as a person, so let’s just fucking for fuck’s sake forget it.
This has obviously been too confusing for some to handle, and nobody has come along asking for explanation. Nobody ever does!
I’ve had few old friends make any attempt to be part of my life this last, what, decade, so what use is the name Mitchell to them? To those who have assumed they were familiar with either name, I ask you to move on. Like a shark I swim forwards, not backwards.
Hamish has been right in front of you the entire time. Like I said several months ago, it’s a name I’ve used for these blog posts. Nobody seemed to really notice, though, because I haven’t heard it used. It’s a name I’ve actually preferred since I was about seven or eight years old, actually. There’s a story to it. When I was in school I belted the shit out of some little prick. We were playing four-square handball, me and this little prick, and at the sight of a passing nerd he pegged the ball directly at his head. He knocked the nerd to the ground. Now me, I didn’t like that. I’m a child of abuse. I staunched up to the little prick, punched him in the eye, and knocked him to the ground. I thought that was entirely fair. Despite my righteousness, a nearby dumb bitch teacher came over and comforted the crying little prick. His name was Jamie. The nerd’s name was Asher. I protested and made my case, but the teacher, she did not listen (typical), and the nerd who got hit slunk away and did not stick up for me (also typical). I was ostracised after that. I have no regrets.
So I ended up outside the principal’s office. There I sat, and I must have looked uncomfortable and maybe a bit concerned, because a passing older girl, maybe from grade six or seven, came over and was nice to me. She said some stuff like ‘You look like a Hamish. You remind me of a Hamish.’ I quite liked that. I went home that afternoon and told my mother I’d like to be called Hamish, and I don’t know, she probably hit me or something. In any case, the woman would not allow it. Who cares about her nowadays, though? She’s an actual paedophile.
I’ve always liked the name Hamish, but as a nickname it doesn’t work. If I wanted a nickname it’d be, I don’t know, Superstar Freakout Bombastic, or El Cheeto Supremo, or something like that. So now, legally, my name is Hamish. A name that was given to me, and a name that I chose. The name that I’ve been using to speak to you this. entire. time.
Do I have to spell everything out to you people, or should we just continue making dumb bitch assumptions based on a complete lack of personal interaction?
Oh, and I won’t be updating the site or any of my work to my new name. It stays as-is because like fuck all that effort.
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