It makes me quiver in my boots and cringe inwardly. I can do deep meaningful conversations or gush about some fandom or just discussing something in detail but small talk. You don’t need their sympathy and pity because there is nothing bloody wrong with you but they seem to think so because you’re shy or you have trouble making small talk. You like hiding in dark corners while other people “socialize”. Which is why it’s frustrating when you try to deal with other people that is not a friend and newish friends that don’t know you that well yet because they have trouble understanding that your brain is part troglodyte. Enchanting friends who have learned by now that when I am in my cave it is best to leave me alone while I frolic in my absurdity. Friends that sometimes make me forget I have the internet. Making friends is a challenge and staring at people, recording their every alien move while hiding behind a fern is a preferable activity.ĭon’t get me wrong I have friends. Hopefully, by now you would have realized that I am introvert. If we wanted a social life we would have gone out, gotten one and probably poked a 40 something-year-old “tante” (lady) on the nose and then ran away shrieking like a banshee while inwardly rejoicing in our new “social life”. “Are you ok? What’s wrong? Why are you so sad?” These creatures make it increasingly difficult to navigate the thing we call life with their socializing and telling you to go out and “do things”. That’s all you really need to utter to your fellow awkward pack mates to invoke mutual understanding. Now cave aside, as all introverts know dealing with other apes that have the ability to produce sound and form reasonably understandable dialogue through their vocal cords a.k.a. I have this imaginary jelly bean named Steve and he’d probably chase you so I suggest you slowly back away while scratching your left ear. Things that would amaze my teddy bears and probably make you run screaming in the other direction.
This delightful place is filled with wonders like unicorns and short waiting lines and flying waffles. Not a real one, of course, I only wish, but an imaginary one that is located in the deep recesses of my twisted, little mind (I call her Nigel).
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