I hate people.
In all of my years writing, I don’t know that I’ve ever
opened up with a more honest statement.
Here’s a confession. I am shy. Too shy. Deathly shy.
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| Me. |
To be honest, I’m one of those types that has more of “the
feels” for animals (OK, dogs, mostly. Definitely not cats.) than for people.
Just how black is my heart? Whenever I see those posters of all those missing
kids, I feel nothing. Like, literally, nothing. But if I see a handwritten sign
for a lost dog, I go to pieces. One time in my neighborhood, I saw a sign on a
telephone pole that a little girl lost her turtle. And I actually went looking for the GD turtle! Also, protip here;
don’t go calling for turtles, turns out they don’t have ears.
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| Good at finding Turtles. |
I was shy all through school and college. I was never
popular-surprise! Everyone just seemed so far ahead and ‘grown up’ and
confident. Meanwhile, I was off in the corner at all the school dances,
wondering why the hell I would even go to dances. I can’t dance. So let’s
see; not attractive-check, can’t talk-check, can’t dance-check. So let’s just
go to the dance so I can totally destroy what little self esteem I had. And
these were supposed to be my good years?
Doomed from the start, I tell ya.
It doesn’t help I am horrible with names. I’m pretty good
with faces. Still, faces are scary because they have mouths that can open and
talk and sneeze and call me by my name. What sorcery is this? I open my mouth,
and gibberish comes out. Or a loud belch. Usually, it’s a loud belch.
Sometimes, it smells like lunch.
I don’t know how to change it, I don’t know how to get more
“social.” At times, it bothers me I am this far in life and have the social
skills of a dull two year old. I should know how to have a polite conversation
with a fellow human, yet this skill continues to evade me. I must have made
some kind of subconscious deal to trade conversational skill for barely
talented writer. They both have the same result; barely anyone hears me.
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| Yeah, asshole. |
One of the beauty things about FB and the Net is that you can find just about any group to accept your flaws and shortcomings, give it a name, and suddenly, you’re the victim, and the world better cater to you. For example, turns out I was never deathly shy. And I’m not even an asshole! Turns out I am something called an “introvert” and there’s all kinds of memes and pointed quotes to make me feel comfortable. The world should acquiesce to my short comings and flaws. There’s actually many articles on how to deal with introverts. See, I am actually so deep and complex, I need an instruction manual! Better yet, there are lots more of these “introverts,” though we probably won’t get together to talk about it.
The funny thing about putting any label on yourself is that
it defines you. In my case, I’m an “introvert” and it’s perfectly acceptable to
live inside my comfortable little box and stay here. That’s kind of what
introverts do. And now this label makes it totally acceptable to stay introverted
and stay inside my house and binge watch shows or read books or write blogs. I
can wear whatever I want and go to bed whenever I want. Even my introvert self
can recognize this behavior is socially retarded. I will always be an introvert
if I stay an introvert. Nothing changes if nothing changes, and I’m OK with
that.
Speaking of FB, we’ve all seen the picture of the log cabin.
You’re asked if you could live in the cabin for 30 days with no wifi and no TV.
And here’s where my shyness is hardcore. Every dipshit comments that they would
live there, like the point is to say no. And here’s where I’m different; I
could actually do it. The idea of being in the woods (actually, I’d prefer a shack
on the water, choosy beggar am I) alone in a house (if it was a tent, no deal)
sounds like heaven for introvert me. I would have a much better sleep pattern.
I would bring every book and magazine (starting with all the unread Men’s
Fitness from 2015) with me. I would bring my iPod-yes, I said iPod-that has months of music on it that I would
happily listen to.
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| Wait. These are the neighbors!? 60. I can do 60 days. Easy. |
Also, I think we’re all assuming this mythological cabin
will have some creature comforts. Running hot water. Fridge. A decent bed, ooh maybe a
hammock hung up in the corner! Electricity. Can I at least get Sirius? And some
sort of oven or microwave? It’s not like I’m gonna be out hunting like a dirty
caveman, but I’m at least going to assume there is a Wawa or something near by.
Hell, there will probably be 3 Starbucks in the middle of the woods. I can
snake their wifi.
No one to talk to. No one to impress or pass judgement on
me. No discussions about the weather, which, by the way for the sake of this trial
is assumed to be perfect. No deal if it’s not sunny and 70. I would look
forward to going out into nature some days: running, walking, hiking, urinating.
Maybe get up early a few mornings to see a sunrise or two. See the stars and
moon with no light pollution for the big, bad city. My only real worry will be dodging the serial killers all the movies told me populate the woods.
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| "You getting the hockey game in that cabin?" |
OK, so for shits and giggles (and wouldn’t the term shits
and goggles be more appropriate? Just sayin’.) let’s just put this “introvert”
label on me. Does it define me? Does it make sense? Does it explain anything?
Does anybody remember laughter?
Writing is a moneyless hobby I enjoy. It can excite me, and
I can stay awake half the night working out a topic I think can be funny. One
of the things I enjoy most about writing is it’s all me. I do the writing, I do the editing. (This post was originally
5,000 words long.) I choose the pictures
and come up with the captions. If it’s witty, it’s because of me. If it’s enjoyable, it’s because of me. If it sucks, it’s because of me. If it’s not funny, well then quite
frankly, that’s your piss poor sense of humor, ya dickwad ya. And it’s
something I do totally alone. Usually
with curtains drawn. So, hmmm, maybe there is a part of this “introvert” thing
I should be paying attention to? OK, let’s keep going.
Another joyless hobby of mine is going to the gym. It’s my
release, my escape, my therapy. I put my headphones on, then proceed to lift
barely heavy things in an effort to not crush my body. The risk of benching 70
pounds is quite detrimental if my girly wrists give out and it crushes my
larynx. Sometimes, my biggest challenge is to not scream like a girl when I’m
benching 70 pounds. And, BTW 70 pounds is 31.7 kilos for my international readers. Still as impressive, no? But, GD, if
that isn’t another thing I enjoy doing alone.
OK, so maybe some of this may fit me. As with any new
theory, there are other terms to it to further apply to oneself. Here’s one I
like; introvert hangover. Wow I can be sick of people, too! I’m all in now! OK, unlike the clear fallacy that is hype like
ADHD, I actually kinda believe this one. Am I not the only one, when after spending
a night with a bunch of people, go to bed feeling like a semi just ran them
over? And I wasn’t even drinking? I totally get that. How many of us have said,
“I am so tired of people?”
People are dicks. They’re mean, fake, shallow, greedy,
unappreciative, dumb. I don’t like being around people because I feel they are
judging me. And being an introvert can easily lead them to. I have
been an introvert long enough, that it has bred this attitude of “fuck you.” I
have just gotten beyond the point of feeling the need to be liked. Face it,
life is littered with fake people, just like FB is. A wise man one told me, “I
yam what I yam.” And that’s how I feel about me. If you like me, cool. If you
don’t like me, that’s cool, too. I’m fine either way.
But does this make being an introvert OK? Is it OK that I stay
in my little box of shyness? Shouldn’t I want to be meeting new people?
Shouldn’t I be the life of every party? Shouldn’t I be more knowledgeable about
world events, current topics? Shouldn’t I be able to easily discuss how
earth-shatteringly cool my job is? Or the last book I read? The last freaking
awesome blog I wrote? Or the last movie I saw? (Which was Jigsaw by the way,
and a worthy continuation to the series. On second thought, do people really
wanna know I actually think that?) The last show I binge watched?
Face it, technology has conspired to make even the most
extroverted behave like us introverts. And yes, I just became the flag bearer
for introverts. Ya think any of ‘em are gonna stop me? Look no further than
your phone. Look at all the wonder it has brought us. I can order a pizza
without talking to a soul. If I drank coffee, I can put my ostentatious order
in this miracle machine without saying a word. The warehouse club can have my
entire order waiting for me. Yes, I need the multi pack of KY.
Instead of talking to the few brave souls in my “tribe” I
can type a few words into this magic box and voicelessly communicate with them.
If I was cool, I guess I could Snap them or Insta them, but I ain’t gots that
kinda time. Point being, all that technology is awesome and readily available
to us on our phone. Our phone. The
thing we actually used to use to talk
to these people. Progress!
