A couple of days ago, I had to turn in a curriculum vitae. I was told that the purpose was to give an accurate picture of me. Drafting, revising, critiquing, until verbage was complete. Printed it. Read the black words on the bland paper. I must not have accomplished the purpose because when I finished reading, I couldn't see a picture of me. Squinting, focusing, unfocusing, my eyes desparately strained as if searching a Magic Eye. I even tried tricks from art class like turning the page sideways and putting the piece down to come back to it later. All I could see was scribbles; no resemblence of a mirror image.

Conclusion: A picture of me is worth more than a thousand words; it certainly cannot be constrained by the box of empty space around a sheet of bleached tree pulp.