Musings of An Extrovert

I don’t like people. I think they’re nosy and annoying and too proud of things they should actually be hiding. I don’t like people because most of the people that I’ve met have this air of superiority even though they’ve nothing to justify them walking around with their heads up in the high. I’ve always believed achievements, big and small, humble a person. And this leads me to believe that all those people strutting around as if they own the world having accomplished anything in their lives. I don’t like people because they demean and debase you on grounds of a social dogma that they themselves do not follow, but then their “rebellion” is justified because they are either too rich or too “moral” otherwise. I don’t like people because they would rather give free unusable, unneeded advice than necessary help.

But most of all, I don’t like people because of the way they would look at me if I stepped out of my house in my PJs, the way they would judge me and label me for this harmless, simple act. And mind you, I would only walk out of my house in my PJs if I was having an exceptionally lazy, lovely day.

Yet, my curse is my social demeanor which I’m sure I will carry with me to the grave. Not one “introvert” bone in my body, and yet my desire to be far away from people is at war with my need to be around them.