Recently, I discovered something about myself that I hadn’t realized before: I’m a creeper.

 
No, not like a Minecraft creeper (for the Minecraft nerds among you) that chases you across fields and then blows up your house when you think you’re safe. You know, I bet Minecraft creepers were modeled after human stalkers, like bad ex-boyfriends who follow you. Back to your house. And blow it up when you… Wow. Yeah. Creepers are definitely based on crazy exes.

 
I’m way below that level of creeper. First, let me explain that I am a people-watcher; I like to study people, their faces, their responses to situations or other people, the way they act when they think no one is watching, etc.

 
It’s a writer thing. Studying people makes it easier to create well-rounded, interesting and downright complicated characters, much like actual human beings are. And I love trying to figure out what makes people tick.

 
People-watching is also an artist thing. At least, it is for me.

 
I draw people. I paint people. Recreating a person’s face and making it even remotely recognizable requires you to study said person’s face very carefully. You have to find the little details that make your model’s face look the way it does, whether it’s the slight curving up of one side of his/her mouth, or the small deviation in the line of his/her nose. It all matters, and it all requires careful inspection.

 
I have trained myself to look for these details. And in doing so, I’ve become that kid. You know, the one that is always staring uncomfortably long at others from across the cafeteria. I ogle. A lot. And sometimes, the subjects of my ogling become not just interesting faces, but the faces of people I want to get to know. And most of the time, that works out well; a lot of my closest friends began as people I stared at a lot (sorry, guys).

 
Unfortunately (or is it fortunate that I now know and can, therefore, be less weird about it?), after recently conversing with one of the subjects I had been (there’s no non-creepy way to put this) studying, I unwittingly revealed that I had been doing such for quite some time.

 
Luckily, despite being weirded out at first, my person was very good-natured about it all, and mostly understood that it’s a writer/artist thing that I can’t really help. Which means I probably won’t be issued a restraining order. Hooray for tiny miracles.

 
However, I was still mortified. I mean, if I turn the situation around, how would I feel if some random human came up and told me they had been watching me for the past few weeks?

 
I’d think that person was actually a serial killer and was going to find out where I lived and murder me in my sleep. Or, on a not-quite-so-drastic level, stalk me around campus, saying he or she “just wants to be my friend.” Ugh, I probably sound exactly like that.

 
So, moral of the story: if you catch me staring at you, either you have a really interesting face, or, the more likely possibility as of late is that I’ve spaced out and forgotten that I’m staring at an actual human being.

 
Either way, I . . . yeah, never mind. I’ve got nothing to make this sound any better.