I find an unsettling beauty in foggy days. Quiet within the gloomy blanketed stillness. It’s like an artist gone mad out there – taken a fistful of all his palate and smashed it across the canvas, blurring lines, blending brilliant shades of hours of carefully planned strokes, and when you finally peek at the work, there’s nothing left but wisps of grey, black, charcoal, and silhouettes of ghosts.
Heavy, wet, dark.
Most of us feel it – that odd weight that descends around us.
It’s literal air and droplets yet, yet somehow it makes everyone move around slower, draggier, unfocused, moodier, sadder perhaps.
And I adore this.
I adore weather that forces the world around me to take pause.
Grab a tea, I whisper to no one in particular.
Curl into the shape of loved ones -fur or with no fur, get lost in the smell of good library books, or get swept into the magical eyes of characters on screen. Have you fell into the pool blue eyes of Cillian Murphy on Peaky Blinders on Netflix? Do it? Indulge in cookies, stay in those PJ’s that never match (you’re not answering the door girlfriend with that hair that needs a blueprint on “how to comb you out of this bed head mess – hey is that yesterday’s taco sauce? If that is, you’re already a winner in my book!”)
Basically, sloth the day away.
And please don’t effing call me on the phone.
As an introvert, I don’t need much coaxing to shut the world out. I genuinely enjoy the quiet of my house and super small, tiny groups. I will admit though that it has gotten worse over the years after I was diagnosed with chronic pain, then bipolar disorder and anxiety disorder.
I often wonder if all of those feed on each other like a bunch of wildebeests.
I bet they totally do.
Going out is anxiety provoking sometimes and depending on where it is – downtown versus someone’s house, at night versus day, weekday versus weekend, unknown place versus somewhere familiar – sometimes it’s just easier to not go anywhere at all which I know is wrong. I have to bully back the anxiety. I have to try. I do and let me tell you, it sucks. I do the deep breathing thing, the fake smiling thing, the small talking thing, look for a pet in the room because they’re 99.9% easier to hang out with than people, *make sure to NOT say something awkward*, then *SAY something totally awkward*, do some internal screaming and hide in bathrooms sometimes (which is completely acceptable).
Oh, and if you’re an introvert too, cell phones, big scarves, tall husbands with broad shoulders are awesome ways to hide yourself.
People who are not introverts (especially with an anxiety disorder and let’s add bipolar disorder) don’t get this struggle when I hum and haw about going out and I kind of wish they did.
I’m sure I’m labeled as awkward and weird and quite ignorantly — “crazy”
When I was little, I used to think that I was always less than my peers. My teachers from kindergarten all the way to high school always pointed out in every report card that:
“Kimberly is a very shy student. She is too quiet in class. She is encouraged to participate more in class.”
Look ladies and gents, I got on the honour roll every year. I only had detention once and that was due to the great mushroom toss of 1989.
I’m pouring my heart out on a blog, published pieces of work, I even stood up in front of an audience and performed a speech – I think I am doing pretty good teachers.
I always wanted to be the Sarah B’s and the Lana’s and the Vanessa’s and the Jaclyn’s who were loud, boisterous, and got all the attention.
Thinking about it now….why? What for?
They had the most drama.
I don’t have time for that shit.
I have books to read, thoughts to think, PJ’s to wear out, cookies to bake, schemes to plot – kidding, time to spend with my family (and yes, I love that).
Being an introvert isn’t something wrong I’ve learned.
It’s who I am and I’m OK with her.
I am flawed and I struggle with aspects of myself but who doesn’t?
I am so over wanting to be someone else other than who I am.
I am Kimberly.
Awkward, quiet yet talkative to my trusted people, observer, hater of crowds, phone calls, unannounced visitors, people who walk on my floor with their shoes on, kale, chocolate, and patterned leggings.
I come from rough beginnings and wiggly middles and I have absolutely no idea where I’m going but I like me, my family likes me, and my small circle does too.
Today, it’s back to this book, this tea, and stuffing my cold toes under my dog’s warm fur.
He’ll peek at me with one eye, readjust, lick his dry chops, and settle with a loud moan.
The same song and dance for 14 years now.
My introvert BFF.
PS. It was his 14th birthday yesterday!
Happy Birthday Champ!
Are you an introvert?