Oh hum ho, I'm having a funny day. Thankfully there's a picnic planned for lunch, probably indoors. I'm in the sort of mood that results in list-making, or is meant to in any case. I am contemplating sticking up a sign to myself that says "You're not doing it wrong, you're just an introvert". I do forget this periodically and find myself fretting that maybe people are right and I should try a bit harder to be some sort of electrifying dazzling life of the party sort of person, for else my future is doomed doomed doomed doomed. Then I remember and I am annoyed that I didn't tell them to buzz off.
I often try and work out the perfect reply to suggestions to that end, and spend far too much time thinking about it, and in the end I always come to the conclusion that extrovert people must feel a deep horror of the sort of quiet existence that I would find really rather pleasing. Probably the same way that having to be out there rattling and socialising and being switched on and witty and charming every day is my idea of hell. Sadly, it seems to be socially acceptable to say "I'd hate to be you" only in one direction. Extroverts somehow get to assume that you're LOVE to be one too. Especially if like me you sometimes like to pretend you are one. I also like to pretend I'm a tree sometimes, doesn't mean I want to BE one. I'd just like to know what it's like sometimes.
That's me done rambling, sorry, I just felt like it... I think it's to do with starting new books, always makes me think about how the world works, and also makes me look inside my head for new characters, and of course what I find there is mostly myself going: "Hi? You want anything? Well, let me tell you about my life..."
Wow, the chicken I'm cooking smells GREAT! - Oh, I've wanted to have a picnic for ages, and I'll get to use my birthday picnic set, hooray! - I better go and wash up the plates.