honor the introvert in me

she has suffered lately. Today I will sit somewhere alone for 15 minutes: the library at school, my porch, somewhere. I’ll take a timer and be alone with my thoughts.

Quiet. Nick, the cats, and me. Yay.

when I am mostly alone with Nick and the cats.

for the introvert in me. Home with Nick, seeing no one except the cheerful weekend caregiver for an hour or so.

No phone calls today, either.

Aaaaah!

has been battered and bruised lately. I have been shoving her out there to reach out to students, to talk to people, to give parties, and to be with people too dang many hours in the day.

I need to give her time and space, let her calm down a bit. She’s getting a bit hyper.

that time to myself, quiet time, restores me and nourishes me. Not that I did not know that, just that I have not done much of it lately.

I also need to realize how I am affected by various scenarios and how to recover from them.

Today, for instance, I did some academic advising. It’s part of my job. But it always makes me feel shaken and shaky. It’s just too much, too large a dose.

The students are mostly wonderful, happy to be there, glad to have someone welcoming them to college, glad to have someone advising them and setting up their schedule. And I am glad to do it . . . for a while.

But as soon as I escort Student A to the printer to get his or her schedule and information packet, I am given an academic rap sheet on Student B, whom I take back to an office to advise. Then come Students C, D, E, one after the other, no breathing room.

I can do this efficiently and happily for two hours tops. Then it starts to grate. I become distracted by conversation of the other faculty member who is in the office with me, advising students X, Y, and Z. I become daunted by the lines in the Advising Center, distracted by the screaming child one student has brought in, badgered by the questions of the parent of another. There is too much noise, too many people, too many questions. It’s overwhelming.

During the third hour, I start making stupid mistakes.

By the fourth hour, I am on autopilot, and the student is getting about as much individual attention as an ant in an anthill.

After five hours, my nerves are jangled and raw. Cannot . . . take . . any . . . more.

I have never advised more than six hours in a row. Today, I did five hours. I came home four hours ago, and I am still on edge.