An augmented version of column originally published in On Our Selection News August 17, 2016

My obsession for making lists and lining up my pens is going to kill me… and see me die alone.

As a 20-something who is nowhere near as wealthy and famous as I thought it’d be as a child, I’m trying to do a bit of soul searching. The time has come for me to start seriously mapping out my future. I’m trying to find out who I am and what my grand purpose is in life. I need some real answers. So of course I’ve turned to online quizzes.

I thought I’d start off with the Type A or Type B personality test. I answered the questions hoping for the former. I thought being a Type A was a good thing. From what I’d gleamed from magazines and Hollywood’s portrayal of successful people, I thought falling into this category meant you liked lists, colour coding and achievements. You got things done and you did it all in a power blazer. Your apartment is neat and you have a luxed out bloody diary/day planner. It all sounded so fun to me.

If you read my last post, you would know that I came to my own conclusion – that I’m neat, I rant and I’m fabulous (I didn’t need an online test to tell me that). But here are the actual results. And they are less humorous observations and more predictions of my doom. Because it turns out falling into this category means you’re falling into an early grave.

According to the computer-generated free analysis I was given, I should really be paying more attention to my cardiovascular health. The test was originally created not so people could justify their tense, busy lifestyle and jerkward behaviour while trying to get to the top. It was designed to see if you were more expected to experience heart problems, most likely caused by stress.

According my results, my daily existence is “heavily tinged with impatience and hostility”. If my test results are to be believed, I explode the jagged barbs of my concentrated anger at others like some kind of flame-throwing echidna.

And if I don’t burn whoever is within a five-metre radius of my verbal hatred, I end up stewing in anger and frustration. My fury simmers slowly in the crockpot of my soul for weeks on end and when the lid is finally lifted, you don’t end up with zingy pulled pork. You get dished up the tough, stringy corpse that is my rage. Everything is burnt to a crisp except the crackling, which is still chewy and limp.

Apparently my behaviour is both damaging to my health and “extremely harmful” to relationships – which perhaps explains why I spent the last Saturday night watching the ABC with my parents instead of having a laugh with friends. Family are like the friends you had in your country primary school with less than 30 kids – forced to like you because there is a lack of other options.

I turned to this test for answers, but all it gave me was a kick in the guts. Sure, I may well be a stain on humanity, but no one wants to hear that actually confirmed.

Butt he silver lining is that while my hostile personality means I may die alone, I won’t have to live too long in misery because my spiteful ways could cause early heart failure. So while I may be a Type A, it turns out I’m also an optimist.