I am not a morning person.
Yes, I should have probably figured this out by now, but… I just hadn’t. When my husband started alternating between straight avoiding me in the morning and calling me a grumpy pants I realized just how un-fun I am in the mornings. I do not like them. I am not pleased to be there (except on the weekends). Unless you are offering to do something for me (make my breakfast, pack my lunch, pick out my clothes, go to work for me) I am snappy and avoidant. There’s pretty much no way to get rid of this except to just wait.
I am also not an introvert.
For a very long time I thought that because I was shy and tend to prefer smaller social gatherings that I was an introvert. Also my father, who often acts as though he believes I am his carbon copy, has been telling me this is the case from the get go. Since I’ve moved to Wilmington it has become abundantly clear that while I require a serious amount of alone/quiet time without social interaction I am not a happy camper. A little bit may go a long way, y’all but without any there is no saving me. I had to tell Tyler that he does not fulfill all my social needs.
Oh adulthood. You learn something new every day.
Seeking Misadventure 