A Means Of EscapeIntroversion was nothing a little alcohol couldn't cure. A snootful would cure the withdrawn within. A party this weekend? OK. Yes I'll be there after a drink or tow or three or four. And under inebriated conditions my introversion broke through on the dance floor to an explosion of Happy Feet. The life of the party. The jokester extraorinaire! At least in my mind. I was Scaramouche, Captain Blood and Allen Quartermain in one single package.
At least that was true inside the bottle of booze. When the bottle disappeared I was once again Dr. Doolittle talking to my animals without understanding their answers. I went back to reading and movies. I began to understand that i was happier in a book or movie than in a group or crowd. Even happier without the Dutch courage of John Barleycorn.
I'm older now and more accepting, the days of disco done. it's easier. It's quieter. I enjoy the birds in the trees and the hum of bees in flight across and bluescape of sky blanked by a cloud or two passing by.