There R Tears In My Throat…

…and they’re not even MINE!!!

I really like being by myself a lot. Maybe too much. But if YOU were inside my head?  Trust me- you’d crave more “alone time” too.  Like a vampire craves blood.

I feel guilty about this need for solitude wayyyyy more than I should. But just look around at our collective, cultural snowglobe we all happen to live in and it’s easy to see why. The quality of enjoying the company of others is celebrated. People throw around the term “people person” (in everything from dating profiles to job interviews) as if it’s synonymous with  “cancer-curer.” So it MUST be important:

“Look, before you decide if you want to mate with me or hire me, just know that I’m a PEOPLE person, okay?  A  PEOPLE PERSON! That’s me in a nutshell. A PERSON of PEOPLE. A person who likes to engage with other members of my own species. Yup. Looooooove me some people. Can’t get enough of ’em, “the peeps!”

It’s never considered a selling point to admit that you’d prefer to have about 25% “people” time, and 75% “people-free” time. But if I’m honest, that’s me.

And the above illustration of my dream sums this up perfectly. I really AM susceptible to “catching” other people’s emotional states like most people catch colds. (Interestingly, I rarely catch colds or the flu or other mystery viruses that “everyone in L.A. has right now!”). And once I tune in to your emotional needs, (which is to say, once I inhale oxygen) without  consciously TRYING to, my brain is firing up at astronomical speeds; calculating what you want to hear, what my facial expressions should be while you’re talking, what I should say to make you feel happy and at ease around me. I’m basically putting on a mini solo-show every single time another human interacts with me. And it’s not as simple as “Oh, well then you’re just manipulating people to get what you can from them.”  It doesn’t matter if you’re a policeman, or the pope, or my mother, or a toll booth operator, or one of my best friends. If we’re talking, there’s a wholllllle lotta work going on backstage, behind the scenes, off-camera, so to speak. The show you’re paying for is happening on my face and on my body. But the REAL show is under the bio-suit. Behind the pretty blue eyeballs and the mouth that serves as the grand entrance for all those clever, witty, insightful words that make you feel good.

This is even happening with people whose company I LOVE more than anything.

But when we part, no matter how much I love you, I breathe a huge sigh of relief. My whole body, brain and soul get a much-needed, symbolic cigarette break of silence.

I really DO look forward to seeing  many of the people who populate my social circle. But my synapses and neural networks are so exhausted by engaging with others that it’s no wonder I just need to be…

By myself.

Maybe that’s okay.

Or maybe it means I should be put on display at the nearest carnival freak show.

Whatever the case, if you see me edging my way out the door a lot sooner than you’d like, it’s truly nothing personal.

And for all I know, you secretly feel the same way.

(My GOD, when is she gonna leeeeeeave???!!)

I’m going.

Bye.