Existing in that quadrant that falls somewhere between intro- and extravertism is such a dilemma of cause and effect. It causes a shift in everything from how I handle input and what I put out. I can’t figure out which side is wrong and which is right. Which is really me or do I just ebb on the tide of an invisible calendar? All I know is this: when I’m out I’m like a rocket and when I’m in I’m all the way sunken in. There are phases when everything around me functions like a regurgitated memory. Time can be paused for days while I float in a suspension of thoughts and the only way to escape the intensity is to sink deeper while pushing every auxiliary idea out by pushing more in, and all the while the relief is temporal while the suspension becomes thicker and sucks to my legs, slows me down until time stops existing, for me. The quiet comfort of darkness. Days go by where I don’t switch on the lights. Don’t expose myself for a shower, and only launch from my cocoon when the sun chases me to work. Days with people, which is like a pre-recorded show or a mix tape. pre-empted responses played slightly off-cue. These are the days when I roam among the dodos. Somewhere slightly left of reality. I don’t exist for that moment.
image subject to copyright ©Laurita Small 2015