We're staying the night down in Steinbecktown, and classically, I'm hiding in a half-darkened room, away from everyone. This is how I met my husband. He was reading The Sneetches aloud to the Elevens & Susie at a New Year's Eve party hosted by some friends of mine. He didn't really know anyone besides his small renegade group of friends who had crashed the party a couple of hours after midnight. So, they sat, in the corner, having plundered Tim's Dr. Seuss collection. From across the room, I saw them and thought to myself, "Now, that's something I would do!" So I went over to listen. And B thought, "Hey, who's that girl?"
But I'm not as introverted as some. I can carry myself through most social occasions, making small talk and schmoozing like a pro. But inside, I am becoming more and more tired until I have to slink away, on the pretext of a trip to the bathroom, or to 'look something up', or, like Raquel, 'to get something out of the car.' And I'm gone for hours. Usually reading, or in this case, writing. I loved nursing G because of this, and I'd always contend that God invented nursing for tired introverted bookish mothers. "G needs to eat!" I'd say, and we'd go off to some solitary place, book artfully stowed somewhere. One of the Harry Potters came out when she was only 5 or 6 months old and I stood in line at Bookshop with all the rest of Santa Cruz, quivering en masse with joy & expectation. I think it was Harry Potter & the Half Blood Prince. Anyway, I read almost all of that whilst nursing G, and I almost gave myself carpel tunnel holding that massive tome with one hand. And it was worth it.
Now B is an extrovert. Not a raging extrovert, but the difference between us is pronounced. And we are comical together when we're tired. A few months ago we came home from church and both agreed that we were totally wiped out, just completely tired. I slunk to our room to read and take a nap. I came out a few minutes later, to make tea and there was B on the couch, going through the phone book, calling people and making plans! I think he actually had the phone on speaker phone when I came in, and said to me, "Honey-I'm talking to _________, when can we get together with them?" Which only elicited silent & frantic hand gestures from me, mostly of the hand slicing across the throat variety. But I appreciate so much how he can sort of carry us through a lot of social situations, and I end up with people I never knew I liked, even loved. We introverts have a big capacity to love people and have meaningful relationships, just on a smaller, one on one level. And I think B is gleaning this from me. (Not that extroverts lack that love, they have it in spades. But maybe have the tendencies to spread themselves too thin? I don't know. Any extros want to explain themselves?)
But meanwhile, I feel like such a weirdo. A total fruitcake. Like Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre, or Heathcliff on the moors. I think I'd definitely be a cat in some other animal life, somewhere between the 'crawl under the bed when company comes' type and the 'sleep on the couch and let you pet me' type. Just don't expect me to do any tricks.