Thursday, July 10, 2014

Introvert, extrovert--what are you?

I've been following a thread on Sisters in Crime about whether being a writer makes you more of an introvert...or maybe you write because you're an introvert. There an endless circle there, but a friend said to me that extroverts feed off people while introverts feed off themselves and quiet.
Like most people, I think I'm a bit of both, but there are days I think I may be in danger of becoming a recluse. Then there are weeks like this one--I had breakfast, lunch, and dinner out Tuesday, lunch and dinner Wednesday, and lunch today. Tomorrow and Saturday I'll be out for dinner, and Sunday I'll have company for supper. So, yes, a big part of me is an extrovert, and I know if I spend two days home alone I best look for some kind of human contact on that third day.
I will say that, for me, having a dog helps with aloneness. I carry on conversations with Sophie, and sometimes she "talks" back to me--I just wish I knew what she was saying. A friend said yesterday, "I don't speak dog," and I answered, "But don't you wish you did?" He's one of Sophie's absolute favorite people, and her intonation when she talks to him is amazing.
But wait, I'm digressing from people to dogs. I find more and more that I decline invitations, especially to large social events, because it sounds better to stay at home with my computer or a book. And there are days when I just can't wait to get to my desk, boot up the computer, and be a writer--not necessarily by writing but by checking email, Facebook, etc. A lot of ancillary stuff goes with being a writer.
Some days that rush to my desk is fueled by an aching back, although it's getting better, and I'm being fairly faithful about my yoga. But today I carried in groceries--four trips to the car--put away the cold and frozen things, and rushed to my computer. Got involved, and when I got up to meet a friend for lunch, I was astounded to see I hadn't put away the rest of the groceries. Not like me, because I'm fairly compulsive.
I'm grateful for the people who are in my house frequently, especially daughter Jordan and grandson Jacob, but I also relish the quiet of being home alone. Sometimes I get tons done and other times I fritter away the time. Sometimes weekends loom large and long and empty...but then they go by so quickly I wonder where they went.
I'm not sure my inclinations toward being an introvert have anything to do with writing, though I've traded some on being "liter'y" in other ways--as an excuse to be a little different, like not dress for success in a business suit when I was working. But that's another story.

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