Introversion

I’m surprised by how comfortable being alone at home is to me. I knew that I loved it for a day or two, but I thought I’d be bored by weeks of it. Not yet. Right now watching myself heal from my former work situation, struggle with trying creative activities, and taking care of my mother has given me plenty to ponder and observe. I’m probably a little overly interested in myself but I am fascinated by self-awareness. It seems so elusive. Just when I think I know myself I either change or someone points out the obvious which I had somehow missed.

I’m particularly struck by how little I crave contact with others. I just had an interview and told the interviewer that I am an introvert. She expressed disbelief. People usually do. I can be rather animated and sometimes it’s quite easy for me to talk. I grew up in a loud household where I had to compete to be heard. So I’ve learned how to project my voice and how to get attention. But I came home and took a nap after that interview. She was the first person, other than my husband and the plumber, who I’d spoken with in several day and it exhausted me. Not only did I have to talk with people I’d never met before, but I had to talk about myself.

I know that friendships are important, that they satisfy a real need in everyone, and that I enjoy seeing my friends. I just seldom feel the need to interact with people. I almost never call a friend. And it’s difficult for me to plan a party or gathering. I know my friends care about me, and most of the time that’s all I seem to need.

I miss living in a dorm or in a commune. I could usually get the amount of alone time I needed, and when I did feel an urge to be with people they were right there. The same was true when I was working. I could get short spontaneous interpersonal interactions and these were satisfying.

The less I practice interacting with people, the less confident I am about my ability to be social. I used to write down comments and conversation starters I could use at gatherings, so I wouldn’t be at a loss for words once I was there. I don’t have to do that much any longer, but I do still feel jittery sometimes, even with very close friends. Seeing others requires me to refocus, to be alert, to get my timing down, and do the niceties I don’t always understand or appreciate.

Today I’m going to take solace in the fact that I’m an INTP–a personality type shared by only one percent of the female population. So, of course, I feel a bit like an alien. I also feel special and unique. It’s not such a bad trade-off. I just hope my friends  understand that I love them even if I never ever call them.

I think I’ve become a housewife

I’ve been out of work for over 11 weeks now, and I think I might be a housewife. I’m not sure that a former radical lesbian feminist is allowed to become a housewife, but for now the identity seems to fit. This morning I asked my husband if he wanted me to make him turkey and cheese bagel sandwich for lunch, I did the laundry, and I just got back from grocery shopping. I think the only thing saving me is that I didn’t pick up after the kids or take one of them to the doctor. Since I don’t have any kids, it has been fairly easy to escape such duties. But I still feel like I should go out, buy some fabric, and sew myself an apron.

Grocery shopping is a different experience on a weekday morning than it is on a Saturday afternoon. For one thing, I don’t hate it as much. The few people in the aisles are mainly old and easy to maneuver around. I’m not rushed to make my spaghetti sauce decision. I can ponder the advantages of basil or green pepper or sausage. I have the luxury of considering what I might want to have for supper tomorrow, rather than what I might have time to fix. I’m looking at fresh veggies instead of frozen dinners. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy shopping for groceries, but it’s not the chore it used to be.

Saturday mornings are no longer devoted to laundry. I can do it pretty much whenever I like. I’m looking forward to warmer days when I can hang clothes on the line to dry. Everything I’m washing these days can be thrown in the same load. I’m not washing work clothes that have to stay bright, or sweaters that can’t lose their shape. I’m sure HabMoo would prefer not to have any more pink socks, but I’m not terribly concerned.

I can now tell you which of our mail carriers has delivered the mail, even if I don’t see the carrier. The older white guy comes around 3:45, the younger Asian man comes around 9, and the surly middle-aged white guy comes around 2. The guy that comes late is more likely to give me my neighbor’s mail than the others are. I get a little upset around 2:30 if there’s no mail yet. I know he’s going to be the one coming up to my door.

When the furnace broke and when the water heater broke, I didn’t have to worry about when I was going to be able to take time off work to have them replaced. Anytime was a good time. And when the plumber who was supposed to come in the morning didn’t show until the afternoon, I didn’t sweat it. No problem.

My house isn’t noticeably cleaner, I have to admit. One day I washed walls. HabMoo didn’t notice and I really haven’t either. So the walls are going to get dirty again. But all my boots have been cleaned, polished, and water proofed. Since I have a dozen pairs, this takes a bit of time. And I think I’m going to finally conquer that slowly draining sink by pouring down it the hot water I don’t use for my tea. I have the time to see if that experiment will work.

There’s one activity that makes me feel much less like a housewife: playing video games. I don’t recall my mother ever concerning herself with leveling up, or weapon purchases, or unlocking new maps. I do think, however, that sitting in front of Facebook is a lot like sitting in front of a soap opera story.

For now, I guess I’ll allow the housewife identity sit with me. Housewife or unemployed. These days being a housewife seems more unique and interesting.