Being an introvert sucks sometimes

I’m an introvert, in the psychological sense of the word, not the ignorant, uninformed sense of the word. Most people, who are extraverts BTW, think introverts are shy, rude and stuck-up. In actual fact, it’s more that I’m comfortable in my own company and feel overwhelmed by the energy created by large groups of people.

I don’t enjoy crowds and prefer one-on-one conversations over trying to get a word in edge ways in a group. I'm uncomfortable in social gatherings so I tend to find myself a quiet corner from which to observe a party. I have no issues with people approaching me to talk, but I’ll never be the one to go up to a stranger and strike up a conversation. I have a small group of friends, all of whom I love deeply, and a small group of situational friends – colleagues mostly.

Considering that introverts make up, at most, 25% of the world’s population, the world is naturally more geared to an extravert personality. Clubs, pubs, open plan offices, sporting events – mostly they exist to fulfil the extraverts need to recharge, by feeding off the energy of others. Introverts, who recharge by withdrawing into themselves, find these situations completely draining.

For the most part, I’m content with being an introvert. I enjoy solitary activities like embroidery, paper crafts and reading and I spend quality time with favourite people to keep from getting lonely. If I need a change, I go to a restaurant or coffee shop and let other people’s energy wash over me as I submerge myself in a good book.

But every now and then, like last Friday, I just want to be like everyone else. I want to want to get dressed up and party at a club. I want to look forward to attending a work function, since I get invited to so many of them. I want to want to go out and have the kind of mindless fun that the rest of the world enjoys. I want to want to be a little more frivolous. As hard as I try, I just can’t make myself actually want these things. Even when I decide that I’m going to have fun at a social gathering, and psych myself for it by playing my favourite upbeat music in the car, ten minutes after arriving at said event, I’ve had enough and just want to go home.

My desperation reached an all-time high on Friday – I actually considered taking drugs to release myself from this introverted prison. It was only a fleeting thought; the control freak in me wouldn’t stand for that kind of recklessness. But it did help me understand why some people take drugs – to switch off their brains and just fit in for a while.

A-Friend sent me a link to a piece debunking some of the myths surrounding introverts a while ago. The first time I read it, it helped me feel less of an outcast. I reread it every few months, when I’m railing against the short comings of my DNA, because introversion isn't just state of mind, it is actually a biological part of a person. I suspect there’ll be daily readings for the next week or so, until this desire to be different passes.

Dirty Dancing: a review

It took me six weeks to deliver on Mom’s birthday present. She wanted to see Dirty Dancing, with me, so we went to Montecasino last night for the performance.

I was always hesitant about it; I love the movie and I know how changing the format of a story can ruin the original, and all the good feelings that become associated with it. But, my view on birthdays (it’s the one day a year you are entitled to be completely selfish) meant that I bought us tickets and was mildly enthusiastic throughout.

The stage production didn’t ruin the film for me, but that doesn’t mean it was particularly good either.

Although a script written for the stage can be masterfully altered into a film, the opposite really isn’t true. On the plus side, the sets were well done, the costumes authentic and the dancing entertaining (but I’m sure a professional ballroom dancer would find fault somewhere).  And aside from two scenes that were invented to keep the storyline going and give mother Marge (she was rather good) some decent stage time, the script was pretty close to the original. Oh, and sister Lisa’s hula scene was brilliant.

What let the whole thing down was the acting. I assume to get a bit of audience reaction they tried to make it funny in places. It got laughs, but really wasn’t in keeping with the tone with the original story. With the exception of two actors, the American accent was atrocious. At one point Dr Houseman spoke with a British accent!

I know the character isn’t a softy, but in the movie Johnny had some really tender, and some really angst-filled, moments with Baby. But the guy I saw last night displayed one emotion – gruff. I suspect this was because he was concentrating so hard on his accent. And no one, other than Patrick Swayze, can deliver the line “No one puts baby in the corner” without sounding like an idiot.

Baby tried too hard to be funny, and it spoilt the mood. For what is supposed to be a serious love story, it was disconcerting to have people laughing, usually when I’d just managed to forget I was in a room with about 500 other people.

Perhaps I’ve been spoilt by the superior acting ability of Hollywood, perhaps I’m a giant snob, but I always seem to expect more from the actors and actresses who grace our stages than what is delivered.

It wasn’t a waste of money, but if you’re planning to see it, here’s my advice:

1: Don’t watch the movie before you go. You’ll either come away completely disappointed in the show or hating the film. And give the show a few months to work itself  from your short term memory before popping in the DVD.

2: Buy the cheapest tickets – there’s no need to throw money away.

3: Use it as a girl’s night outing; have a couple glasses of wine before and practice your wolf whistles for the shirtless scenes. The scene with Johnny in his boxers could use a whistle too.

A test of patience

Coming up for three years ago, I was gifted this beautiful cross stitch project created from a piece of art by Marjorie Sarnat. There are about a million teeny tiny stitches using 90 different colour cottons, some of which are barely distinguishable from others. Okay, I might be over exaggerating about the million stitches. It might be more like 100,000, but it feels like more. And considering the number of stitches I have already, and predict I will in the future, unpicked and redone, it might not be far off a million when I’m done.

I will finish it. It’s too beautiful not to finish. I want to frame it when it’s done, and hang it on a wall. I don’t frame cross stitches normally, mostly because nothing I’ve done so far has been worth it.

So far, this is what I’ve done.

If you tilt your head side ways (because I couldn't figure out how to rotate the image) you can see the one ear and two of the three blue triangles on the cat’s head. There’s still a long way to go, and it might take a decade before I’m ready to frame it – cross stitch is a very slow art form, but I have to buy at least another 40 skeins of cotton, which isn’t cheap.

I’ll post another pic in a couple months time, maybe after the Christmas holidays (which is only six weeks away J), hopefully with many, many more stitches in place.

UPDATE (10/2015): While I haven't given up on this project, it has stagnated at this point

Still got a long way to go, but I'm not rushing this, or forcing myself to work on it for fear of hating it.