Do I, the socially awkward
extrovert, have an aversion
to introversion? I have the
answer to everything, but
how often is it the correct
answer? Who’s to know?
Isn’t that a terrific problem
(terrific as in terrible and
horrific)? I think the majority
of the folks with whom I’ve
had relationships have solidly
been introverts. And while
it can sometimes be annoying,
I actually do well with gregarious,
extroverted friends, not that
I haven’t had my fair share of
I haven’t had my fair share of
pals that aren’t people people.
I’ve often grappled with the
fact that I’m a true-to-type
Gemini who’s pretty high on
the people person scale and
yet can be incredibly socially
awkward. Grappled how?
Mostly, if I’m honest, I’ve
simply joked about this see
ming paradox, which I do
believe is quite integral to
who I am. In other words,
a large percentage of my
life comes from the knots
that these facts get me tied
into on a regular basis. Which
brings me to the double gut-
punch that, at least within me,
are both my anathema and
my yin and yang: anxiety.
Which is no joking matter
(Take my Xanax, please!) –
(I’m kidding, I have none, as
local medical professionals,
and presumably many not-
so-local, called dispensing those
to folks without real insurance
when the opioid fiasco led
soon thereafter to a national
fentanyl crisis.) ( Which I get,
in theory, but at the same
time find utterly elitist,
another devastating symptom
of the widening gap between
the classes here in our devolving
country.) There, I’ve said my
piece, as it turns out, even as it
I’ve often grappled with the
fact that I’m a true-to-type
Gemini who’s pretty high on
the people person scale and
yet can be incredibly socially
awkward. Grappled how?
Mostly, if I’m honest, I’ve
simply joked about this see
ming paradox, which I do
believe is quite integral to
who I am. In other words,
a large percentage of my
life comes from the knots
that these facts get me tied
into on a regular basis. Which
brings me to the double gut-
punch that, at least within me,
are both my anathema and
my yin and yang: anxiety.
Which is no joking matter
(Take my Xanax, please!) –
(I’m kidding, I have none, as
local medical professionals,
and presumably many not-
so-local, called dispensing those
to folks without real insurance
when the opioid fiasco led
soon thereafter to a national
fentanyl crisis.) ( Which I get,
in theory, but at the same
time find utterly elitist,
another devastating symptom
of the widening gap between
the classes here in our devolving
country.) There, I’ve said my
piece, as it turns out, even as it
was not my original intent. That
the nitty-gritty is kept within
the confines of parentheses
is metaphorically appropriate.
Except for the fact that I make
a point that whenever I have
any sort of medical or mental
consultation, I always, and as
level-headed as I can, force
the nitty-gritty is kept within
the confines of parentheses
is metaphorically appropriate.
Except for the fact that I make
a point that whenever I have
any sort of medical or mental
consultation, I always, and as
level-headed as I can, force
myself to muster bringing up
this unfair fact, that I think of
this as a hideous inequity, esp
ecially given that Xanax so pro
foundly helped me be the person
I had, with no conviction
whatsoever, believed myself
to be. This complaining no doubt
does the opposite of making a
difference, when it comes
to me ever getting such a
panacea ever again. But how
could I ever make a difference
in the grand scheme of things
when it comes to equality or
in reducing that cruel growing
gap that exists between the
haves and us have nots?
