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Dexter is most certainly one of the creepiest, and most unnerving shows I have ever taken the time to watch. And I have to admit, it took me four episodes to begin enjoying it. What happened in the fourth episode? Dexter showed his humanity, showed that he wasn’t entirely cold and mechanic — that he, despite what he thinks, has a heart. And as I’ve gotten into it more (half-way through season one), I find that there is something about this serial killer that we can all relate to. We all hide some part of ourselves from the world for the sake of normality, because we don’t want to have to answer questions about something that is so integral to who we are that we know other people just won’t understand.

Every so often I joke about how I missed my calling in life to be a psychologist/therapist. I love to analyze people. I love psychology. I love trying to figure out why people are the way they are. But today I was reminded of why such a field is not even remotely my calling: I lack patience for people. As much as I might love taking pictures of them more than any other subject, for the most part, I find people to be extremely infuriating.