I sometimes almost convince myself I’m a people person some days at the library, small talking and schmoozing with the best of them as I work the front desk. I think that maybe I’m finally overcoming the shyness that was my trademark in high school. I almost convince myself that those tests that labeled me “quiet,” or “introverted” can suck it.
But then there are days like this weekend when I remember just how much I don’t like people sometimes and that when I’m done playing the extrovert, I want to punch anyone in the face who tries to talk to me.
I don’t. But it takes vast amounts of self-control and chocolate to prevent such behavior.
Myers-Briggs got it right; I’m an introvert. I am not some loner just because I hide out in my car on my lunch break so I don’t have to talk to people for a blessed hour so I can recharge and watch BuzzFeed videos. I get all moody and gassy when I have to go into a new social setting where I don’t know anyone, my mind unable to put coherent sentences together because I’m too busy worrying about how I look and how everyone can surely tell I feel like I’m about to pee myself from fear and self-consciousness. And pretending to be Mrs. Outgoing for 8 hours for work can be exhausting, remedied only by a marathon of “The Big Bang Theory” while wearing PJs and eating Cheetoes.
That’s just who I am, and I’m learning to love it. Now, leave me alone now so I can read.