Here I am once again at Starbucks in the Glastonbury plaza. It’s about 90 degree’s out. Everyone’s in shorts and sandals. I’m in black pants and my mustard color ME polo. My hair is long, straight and boring. As usual, I don’t have any makeup on. No nail polish or earings. I’m the sad-looking girl in the corner with her laptop.
I’m not sad. Not really. I just don’t like people all that much. As soon as I walked into the break room at work today, one of my co-workers starts in on me. She’s always so wound up, bursting with nervous energy. She chatters away at me telling me about her problems, likes and dislikes. I can’t bring myself to care about anything she says. It’s not just her I do this with, it’s anyone who talks non-stop about uninteresting crap I don’t care about. And it’s not that I don’t like her, I like this girl. I wouldn’t hang out with her outside of work, but I like her and genuinely care about her.
Is it my selfishness showing itself? Probably. But I can’t forsee myself changing any time soon. Instead of being social at work, I sit with either a book or a crossword – today I had enough time to sit in Starbucks before my clients arrived. I don’t mind the large time gap between clients because it gives me time to write.
When I do have to talk to people, I don’t rattle on about my personal crap (that’s what my blog is for). I’m more in the moment. I’m more reactive than proactive, if that makes sense. I think that’s why I’m funny. People laugh at me all the time, even when I don’t feel like I made a joke.