I live a really quiet life. I've lived alone for longer than I've lived with other people. I feel like that's supposed to be sad, and I guess it is. I live a very, very good life. It's just probably quieter (literally; I'm not trying to be symbolic) than yours.
I'm an introvert, but I suppose my environment over the years has contributed to that. So it's a mix of nature and nurture, which is what just about everything is. Sometimes a person will say they are an introvert and, I guess because I own that label and experience, I'll think, "Are you out of your mind?" I've decided that a lot of people don't know what those personalty theories refer to. I do, of course, but they don't. You cannot have a big fucking mouth and want to be around other people with big fucking mouths all the time and crave attention and love parties and be energized by large groups and hate being alone and also call yourself an introvert. Or, I should say, you can. By all means. But I will be judging you while you do it.
So my friends left, and I wanted to breathe into a paper bag but instead I got ready for a date, and then my date canceled, and then a friend texted, and then I went out to meet my friend for a drink. Two people. One conversation. A small table, four little chairs, party of two. Afterward I went home very satisfied and proceeded to almost have an anxiety attack thinking through my busy, loud plans for today. I guiltily e-mailed my friend and canceled, just explaining that I needed time alone. It's hard for that particular friend when I do that, I believe, because she is an Ex! Tro! Vert! I think it's difficult and feels very personal when I change plans or ask for time alone. I don't know what to tell her, and I don't know what to tell anyone else other than: It's not you, it's me. I need time quiet alone at very regular intervals just as much as they need food and water at regular intervals. It's not to get away from certain people. It's because I feel like I will die without it. It's not you. It's me.
In other news, I've gained a bunch of weight in the past (ugh, struggling to not say "quarter" . . . I've been in finance for 19 years, people, it's how I think) few months and I'm getting frustrated with what is much too much to cutely be called a muffin top. What is more than a muffin top? Anyway. As I've mentioned, I lost a lot of weight a few years ago so even though I know objectively that I'm overweight right now, it's not terribly emotional for me. I'm not devastated by it. I've been much more overweight, I know how to lose weight, I'm not surprised that I'm a bit fat right now because I understand the concept of choice and consequences.
I am concerned about it on another level, however. (Well, and I'm sick of feeling uncomfortable. Christ, being overweight is uncomfortable.) Gaining weight has, in the past, been a way for me to protest something. I can be outspoken and I'm comfortable verbalizing a lot, but there is a point where I feel unable to do that and if it's an important enough - core enough - issue, I guess I've found another way to say: No. I object. And also, I'm here. I matter. I can have an opinion, too.
So I'm going to get about the business of figuring out what it is I'm trying to express, and then I will express it verbally and stop eating cookies. There's so much to do in this world and being overweight keeps me from doing some of it. And frankly, that's the best thing it does. The other stuff I experience as a result of being overweight is way worse. Time to do the hard work, the very hard work, of being present and accounted for. All the time. I've got a long way to go, but I've been there before. I know the way.