Monday, August 20, 2012

Recharging

One of the concepts that has been buzzing around in my wrinkly little brain lately is the one of introversion. My favorite definition of introvert versus extrovert is that the introvert might like people but find interactions with said species draining, while extroverts gain energy from those interactions. I, and I don't want this to come as a shock to anyone, am a raging introvert. I like people. I love people. They're fascinating and I'm friends with several and parent to a few more. Hell, I even happen to be one. But after extended exposure my head starts feeling rather swimmy and distant and I long to get to a quiet place for some extra-strength silence. I need alone time.

This last week has been one long out of balance off-kilter experience. From the unexpected and dreaded "there's a relative in the hospital" call (relative is currently okay) to a long-planned get-together with friends (I had lots of fun!) to dinners and lunches with family both near and extended, I'm wiped out. I crave peace like a bibliophile needs a library. I found myself getting snippier and snippier with the Banshees and their chores. I promised myself I wouldn't snarl -- but we have emergency house-sitting and then there are people coming over to our place and then -- and then -- and then --

I did tell everybody and their closest cat that this was going to be a work in progress. Well, this is the progress part, where I fall down with a thump and get back up again. I need alone time and I need quiet, and once again I realized that I don't get this when I'm constantly worrying about and monitoring chores that the Banshees are in charge of. I have chores of my own and I don't get to them if I'm chivying and chiding the offspring from morning til night. It does look like there are going to be some consequences this week that I'm not looking forward to, but I also have a yard to weed and a closet to clear out and Christmas knitting to work on.

So I'm going to push away from the computer and curl up with the knitting and Misomer Murders and let my brain relax to the point where closet-cleaning and yard-weeding look doable even if they'll never look exactly good. Clean closets and clean yards look good; the process whereby those looks are achieved are akin to law-making or sausage creation: Nobody wants to get close enough to actually see it.

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