Thursday, November 6, 2014

Rope: Coming Loose

All I want is to listen to really hard and heavy rock and roll while I write. 

Really.  That's it.  

My frustration level has reached an all new high.  I'm terribly cranky right now. I guess when I get even just the littlest tiny bit pissed off I become a great big scary monster that ruins people.  And that's when I'm pulling my punches.

Imagine, for a small terrifying second, what I could accomplish if I truly wasn't trying to be a better person.


Found out two weeks ago that I'm an INTJ.  This realization has answered a lot of questions.  It's helped me put some things into perspective.  It's also made me incredibly thankful for the gift of my sister and my husband.  Because without them and their particular personalities, I would have been left on my own and who knows what kind of monster I would be today.

If you google INTJ and read the description, it's accurate to me by about 95%. I won't tell you which parts aren't true (spoilers).  Anyway, I guess my brain isn't broken after all.  There's nothing "wrong" with me.  So hear me while I shout this at my computer screan, "STOP TRYING TO FIX ME!!"

I know I'm not the easiest person to get to know. I like it that way.  I don't think it's imperative to be besties with every person I come into contact with.  I like knowing there are only a handful of people, chosen and vetted by myself, who know the dark duckling that I am.  Not to say I can't be friends with many people. I totally can and I totally am.  But they don't all get to see the soft squishy that resides behind the Death Glare.  
 
To get angry with me for holding a part of myself separate from the rest of the world just proves my theory that you can't be trusted with it anyway.  Don't take it personally, I'm not being cruel.  I'm being honest.  

True story: One time I had a roommate. I've actually had two, neither relationship ended well.  (Still sorry about that, most of it was my fault.)  Anyway, this roommate, we'll call her Tish, had been living with me for a few months.  She slept in one day and I cleaned the house.  I wasn't mad at her.  I was indifferent towards her, which some people perceive as mad (shrug).  She came out of her room and went to the bathroom, then went back to her room and shut the door. 
I kept doing my thing.  Her boyfriend showed up, I let him in, he went back to her room. I kept cleaning.  A few minutes later they left.  I think I was vacuuming at this point.  I shut the vacuum off and heard the water spigot on the outside of the house running.  I went to the window and looked outside to see Tish brushing her teeth.

Really.
I guess the Death Glare made her believe that if she used the bathroom for what it's supposed to be used for, I was going to kill her. 
Really.

I tell you this story because it still makes me laugh to this day.  I wasn't mad at her.  I was working.  She told everyone I was mad.  Which made me look like Mommy Dearest in training because who makes someone brush their teeth outside?  Really, what kind of messed crap is that? 

Now, she may have been feeling guilty because she set one of my pans on fire when she was cooking a cheddar filled hotdog and then tried to bury the evidence.  I found it later.  And one thing that actually does piss me off is incompetency.  Still wouldn't have made her brush her teeth outside.

Why did I share this?  Because it makes sense now and it's even more hilarious than it used to be.  But also because the extroverts of the world keep trying to "help" me.  Please, for the love of Pete, stop.  I'm fine.  I don't need to be rescued or repaired.  Yes, I'm weird.  Yes, my personality probably freaks you out and makes you uncomfortable.  I appreciate that you are trying to include me.  But understand that I am just as happy sitting in the corner and watching everything 



as you are being the center of attention.



 

 Don't force me to be an extrovert.  If I end up getting too stressed out (see: forced extroversion), I become a nightmare.  And not the fun kind.  The kind where I'm moody and emotional and I HATE EVERYTHING.  When I tell you nicely to "back off."  That is not code for "try harder."  I don't speak in code.  I think about what I want to say and then I say it.  When you ignore the actual words that come out of my mouth, I lose any smidgen of respect I had for you at all.  


Side note:
And if you see me in a coffee shop with my back to the room and headphones in, that is not an invitation to join me.  I will make this face at you
until you leave.  

Don't misunderstand.  Occasionally there will be an activity that interests me and excites me and I will participate wholeheartedly.  Again, my participation needs to be left up to me.  But if you are boring or mean to people or a general dick, I probably won't want to spend time with you.  Because I have learned enough about people (don't knock the corner sitting, it's very revealing), to recognize the ones I want to spend time with.  Don't get bent about it, just find someone else to hang out with.  No one should be expected to mesh perfectly with everyone else.  I'm not a universal donor over here.  I don't fit well with all types.  I know that about myself and I'm okay with that.  Stop trying to force us to mix. I', Red Bull and you're milk.  I will make you curdle.  It'll be gross for all involved.  So stop forcing the issue.

I need new headphones.

And I need to write about these rock stars that I love.

If you've read this far, here's a bonus and rare reveal of feelings:
I write about musicians because I've known so many and I adore them.  Truly magnificent people who made my life bright and loud and made me feel like less of a freak when I was with them.  But maybe that's the nerd characteristic.  The little gene in human DNA that not everyone is blessed with.  If you are a nerd about something to the point of passionate obsession, I probably love you.

Am I a paradox?  Yeah, actually I am.  If you do your research you'll see that that's perfectly normal.