1: The adventures of Introverted!Girl and her trusty sidekick Crushing Anxiety Pants
So, I was watching House with the husband the other night, and House (the grumpy cat of the fictional medical world) was put in solitary confinement. I was just watching, thinking, you know what? It wouldn’t be so bad. I mean, if I had a notebook and a pen, I’d be pretty happy, even. Golden.
My husband turned to me and said, “god, I can’t imagine anything worse, can you?”
I muttered something incomprehensible and my eyes grew wide in the dark.
It was then that I began entertaining the possibility that I might be a little… introverted. Shocker, right? The girl who likes to read and write and lock herself away during life-occurring hours. The girl who doesn’t cross the threshold into Big Scary World unless armed with factor 50 (on that subject, the husband sometimes calls me Baz. Yes, as in Baz Luhrmannn. Wear sunscreen, folks.) And people? Ugh, clammy, clammy hands just thinking about it.
Every once in a while, I’m forced out into Big Scary World and occasionally into Anxiety Causing Crowds, where I’m forced to smile and shake hands, and the other person gets to politely nod and wipe my clammy hand sweat on their trousers.
Now, these outings are sources of never ending mirth for said husband. He sort of just winds me up and lets me go, flailing around the room like a broken toy, from one awkward encounter to the next. He particularly enjoys my birthdays. A lovely, kind person might come up to me and say, “happy birthday!” and I quickly flick through my Social Handbook and smile, nod, then say “happy birthday to you too!”
*face palm* (or more accurately, *beer in face hole*. It’s my birthday don’t judge me.)
The point of this rather rambling post of self depreciation is… I think I’m getting better. A bit. I don’t think I’ll ever be a natural People Person with People Skills but a gal can try, right? I have to push on through this troublesome birth canal and out into the Big Scary World.
I just wish the Big Scary World had less people in it. Five would be nice. Maybe seven, at a push. But SEVEN BILLION?
Pass me a paper bag and book me into solitary.