Like most of Shakespeare’s works, Julius Caesar is a play that is approximately 20% historical inaccuracies and 80% just people with daggers running around making poor decisions. And although I have never so much as touched a dagger, I have also never identified with a cast of characters more in my life. Here are those characters and why I firmly believe we are one and the same.
Like Caesar, I pretend to hate validation but secretly thrive on it. I have no idea how to accept compliments; more often than not, I simply faint dead away. When people warn me about easily preventable problems, I am content to blithely ignore them. You could come right up to me and tell me exactly what NOT to do in a given situation, and I would nevertheless persist in doing the stupid thing, ultimately to my own detriment.
Cassius resents people who are more likable than he is, and I feel that. Furthermore, just as Cassius eventually dies as a result of a minor miscommunication, I too will probably die because of a dumb mistake I personally made.
I’m very suggestible and tend to cave quickly to peer pressure. Whenever I do something awful—whenever I eat the last cookie, perhaps, or spill orange soda on the couch and flip the cushion over—I’m able to convince myself that what I did really was in the best interest of Rome.
I frequently do the opposite of what is expected of me just for the drama of it all. I can be persuasive when I want to be, but my ideal state of being is “running around in a goatskin loincloth without a care in the world.”
Cinna the poet
Like Cinna the poet, I, too, have been mistaken for someone else with disastrous consequences. (Pizza Hut delivered the wrong pizza to me one time, and it had mushrooms. I suffered.) Also like Cinna, I write terrible poetry and will likely be torn apart by an angry mob as a result of this.
No one ever listens to me when I want to tell them about my dreams. I once had a dream that I robbed a bank with Neil Patrick Harris. Nobody cared.
I go around saying unsettling things to strangers on the daily. “Beware the Ides of March” is a good one, but so is “Cute dog!” to someone who doesn’t have a dog and “WAKE UP,” spoken in a plaintive whisper.