Introverted pie

I stared at the pies for about eight minutes too long.

I picked up the pumpkin -- put it back down. Picked up the chocolate -- put it down. Picked up the marionberry -- put it back, picked it up.

Put it down.

Then the pumpkin again. Pumpkin would say I was confident and comfortable. And it would be a lie.

Chocolate would say, "Hey, ladies. I'm totally one of you, and we all like chocolate, right?"

Nope.

Marionberry. Not the usual just-grab-a-pie pie.

Maybe, just maybe, this marionberry pie would say, "Hi. I'm new. I don't know you, and I don't really feel like I'm going to fit in here, but I'd like to try. If you would take some time to get to know me, bite by bite, one on one, I think we could maybe hit that pumpkin pie comfortable feeling, but it's going to take a while, and I have a job with an unpredictable schedule, and if you want to get together on a Thursday or Friday night, I'll say yes and then cancel last minute and hang up the phone and cry because I'm so stinking tired of people -- I mean, I love people -- but I'll be tired of them by then, but too stubborn to realize I truly need to be alone to recharge, so I'll say yes then cancel, then feel sick about it and frustrated with myself to the point where I'll be tempted to just let the possible friendship die, but I won't want to, and I'll want you to stick it out with me and maybe ask me to do something on a Tuesday afternoon instead, or maybe Saturday about lunch time when I've had time to get some sleep and some coffee and a few precious moments alone with my thoughts so I can appear -- no, be -- pretty chill and fun and talkative. Yes, Saturday lunch or coffee would be good.

Then again, that's an awful lot to ask of one marionberry pie.

Still, it would be nice if a pie could say all that for me because I'm not really sure how to say it for myself. I wish I could hand out a written disclaimer when I attend social events.

~Hello~ it would say.

~My name is Hannah. I'm a reporter at the local newspaper, but please don't let that lead you into thinking I'm an extrovert. I am a very capable, very friendly, very sociable reporter who is quick-witted and willing to ask ridiculously deep questions of complete strangers or people in positions of influence, but only when I'm wearing my reporter hat. I have removed my reporter hat and am now approaching you feeling rather -- well, completely -- naked as a true blue introvert. Part of me would rather be at home writing in my blog and drinking tea, but if I was there I know I'd be wishing I'd at least tried to be social and make friends because I know friends are important. So, here I am. I forced myself to drive straight here from work. I stopped at the grocery store to buy a pie. It took me nine minutes because that choice of pies suddenly became a total inner struggle with my fears of what you all would think of me and how I wanted to portray myself. I also walked away from the pies four times, two in near tears, as I almost audibly argued with myself over whether it would be better to go or not. I chose marionberry, and if you read my blog, you'll see what I wanted that to say about me. But before you think I'm a completely hopeless loss, please appreciate the effort it took for me to get here and trust that I really do want to be here, even if you later find out I fought back tears on the drive home because I wasn't sure it went that well and I was just so very drained. Trust me. By tomorrow afternoon, after I've had some coffee and a few moments to write in my blog and stare out the window at the tree, I'll think it was a lovely time, and I'll probably join you all again in the future. It will still be an inner battle to get myself there, but I'll probably bring a "down home" apple pie. And if we hang out a few more times, I'll bring pumpkin. And one of these days, I'll bring whipped cream, too.~

~It's nice to meet you.~

I gotta go.