Not like nipples, you're thinking of inverted.
Introversion. Maybe you've heard of it? Perhaps you haven't. (That's okay, why would you want to know anything about like... 50% of people anyway?) I'm not going to explain it to you, because there are 700 articles about it on every website lately and that's what Google is for anyway.
Regardless, I've been introverted since I can remember. Here I will provide some examples from my childhood experiences to give you proof, because no one who reads this has any reason to believe me.
Hopefully, if you know me, this doesn't come as a surprise. I'm predominately quiet, I observe more than I participate, and I quite literally NEVER want to talk to you at the soda machine, in the elevator, or at any time in my existence without a specified purpose. Small talk matters not.
I think I've given introversion a fair run, and I think it's time to give it a review. Let's do this thing.
It may come as a surprise that I am quite the fearful person (unless we've ever talked at any length about cicadas, seriously, fuck those bugs). I am not proud of this facet of my person-diamond. (For the record, I'm not particularly proud about having this unjustified, deep-seated fear of cicadas either).
Fear is a strange emotion for me personally in that it seems to elicit those much crappier, long-lasting emotions like: anxiety, shame, and guilt. This power trio is particularly fun to deal with because they are really good at keeping you busy from realizing that you're just scared of something.
Important note: it is NOT juvenile to say that you are scared of something. (Pfft, over here acting like walking to the kitchen in the middle of the night isn't spooky as shit and you're not running back to your bed quick as hell. Get outta here, liar).
Back to business...
I have a major fear of failure.
There. I said it. I have a fear of failure and it has inhibited me in the following ways:
I am scared of failing, and this is something I need to change.
So, I did it. I read a book... Okay I lied, I read HALF of a book.
FUCK, fine! I read 86 pages of a book. Stickler, I read ~85.1 pages. I wasn't ready for the next section, I'm still not ready for the next section.
I don't want to finish this book.
This book was supposed to teach me 'the Japanese art of decluttering and organizing,' but I'm finding that it's just telling me a really strange story about a girl who terrorizes her family with unhealthy organization habits that has somehow avoided an OCD diagnosis despite some very obvious warning signs.
Here are my notes thus far:
The thought of someone gasping in disbelief upon seeing someone's sock drawer made me want to light this book on fire. Surely there are some great tips somewhere in this book on simplicity and creating/maintaining a tidy lifestyle, but if I have to subject myself to written criticism of a goddamn sock drawer to get to that information, well, I guess I'll just continue living in my own filth for awhile longer.
Overall, I'd give this book a 3/10. On the joy sparking spectrum, that is very low, so I'll be taking this book's advice, groping it, telling it thanks for nothing, and throwing it the fuck away.
Every weekday, I come home from work and at 6:00 pm a reminder goes off on my phone to clean the cat box. Every. Single. Day. Every weekday, I come home from work and at 6:00 pm, and when a reminder goes off on my phone to clean the cat box, I immediately dismiss it. Every weekday, I come home from work and at 6:00 pm, when I dismiss the reminder to clean the cat box, I feel terrible about myself.
This is who I currently am.
I am the girl (woman?) who comes home and dismisses the reminders for the things she should do, so that she can do the things that distract her from the things she should be doing. I have let my personal laziness levels get so high that I have to physically take action to not do the thing I should be doing.
I am actively lazy.
Now, I know full well that there isn't anyone to blame for this action-based lack of action but myself. BUT, this isn't about blame. (Seriously, this can't be about blame, Blame is this fun backpack I like to carry around and fill with things that do/don't belong to me. That's another post for another day).
This is about stepping back and doing something different. Here are our options. Let's go!
Here is to a new year, a new less lazy version of myself, and doing the fucking things.