Miss Oblivious

I have always thought of myself as a detail-oriented person. I come from a family of detail-oriented people, so I just assumed I was the same way. This probably comes as a surprise to most people who know me, because I have a reputation for being a bit spacey. It all hit me about a week ago, and I saw myself a little more accurately.

You know how they say that you can miss the forest for all the trees? I miss the trees for the forest.

I was almost literally nicknamed "Miss Oblivious" at the office I worked at a few years ago. They had very good reason for this name. I can't tell you how many times I would be talking to a co-worker in the break room, and they would ask me why I didn't wave back when they passed me on our way to or from work on the interstate. I simply did not see them. I pay attention to the road when I'm driving, and very little else...like other drivers' maniacal attempts to get my attention.

Probably the funniest example, and a story that my friends will not let me live down, happened one time in late spring. In Alabama, spring starts early in the year, and things become green fast. I did not have a window in my office, but the front doors in the lobby were all glass. One day in May, or maybe early June, I walked up to the front doors, looked outside, turned to the receptionist--who happened to be an old friend of mine--and exclaimed, "There's leaves on the trees!" Considering the fact that there had been leaves on the trees for a couple of months, it's understandable that my friend laughed herself silly before spreading the story throughout the office.

I also recently discovered that my mother does have a trash can in her laundry room. I've been carrying the lint from the dryer all the way to the kitchen trash because I couldn't find the can by the washer and dryer. Was it hidden? No. My brain simply failed to register what my eyes were seeing.

This isn't to say that I'm completely capable of detailed work. I'm actually pretty good with data entry, mathematics, and fine stitching like crochet and cross-stitch. but I think my mind wanders whenever I'm doing something repetitive. I suppose I am more of a big picture person. Details escape me for whatever reason, and I really don't know how to change that.

Does anyone else find themselves missing the trees for the forest? Any suggestions on how to train my mind to notice the details that it really needs to? I'd love to hear about it!

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Book Shopping Online

Last night I was browsing Amazon, intending to finally purchase a copy of The Lord of the Rings. I've always wanted a set of my own, and I had some Christmas money to use to buy it. The experience made me realize just how picky I can be about the books I buy, particularly if it's a book that I care about. This is one of them. I actually did not purchase any copy as I finally decided this one was too important to not buy in a bookstore and physically handle the books before making the purchase.

The first thing that I want in any book that I anticipate being read repeatedly is a hardback cover. Paperbacks just don't hold up well. I don't know how libraries manage with the decline in quality books. Achieving this desire is complicated by multiple collector's editions that were purported to be leather covers. That sounds like a decoration piece to me, not something intended to be well-read and well-loved. I want hardback. End of discussion.

Binding. This is where my nerdiness really starts taking monstrous form. I'm actually picky about binding. Or I would be if the manufacturers actually made books with sewn binding. That's right. Sewn. Not glued. The vast majority of books these days have glued binding, and it falls apart after three to five readings. Not something you want in a book that you would one day like to pass down to your children and grandchildren. Most Bibles still have sewn binding in anticipation of being read often. It's another quality in manufacturing that I'm sure librarians around the country are constantly bemoaning. Or at least the ones in my old home-town library were.

A few years back, someone decided to make a movie--or rather a trilogy of movies--based on my beloved childhood tale. I'm not saying it was an awful idea, but there's one thing that this spawns that I absolutely cannot stand. They print books with covers with movie art. I don't want Elijah Wood's face on my copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. Nothing against him personally, I just don't like it. It was extremely hard to tell online if the books had movie art on them, so it was another factor to me deciding to simply buy in person.

The online reviews were a nightmare. They were very helpful in a way. One of them specifically warned about an edition that was riddled with typographical errors, definitely something I would try to avoid purchasing. The problem was that I was finding the exact same reviews on multiple editions of the same book. How was I supposed to know which one they were talking about? It was highly frustrating.

In the end I decided that I haven't been inside a bookshop in quite a while and it would probably be good therapy to hold new books again in the near future. I can judge for myself the cover, binding, and illustrations, and hopefully make sure I don't get a copy full of misspelled words. Now to see what bookstores are in my area...

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Talking To Myself

I have a confession to make. I have a habit that developed in childhood that seems to have only gotten worse as I age. Sweetie finally said something about it last week, and called it creepy. I've tried to stop, really I have. It really seems impossible. I know I'm not the only one that does this, but...

I talk to myself.

A lot.

I think this behavior falls into one of three categories. Either I'm thinking out loud, running through scenes for stories out loud, or I'm practicing conversations for the future.

I'm pretty sure that most people at some point in their lives have spoken their thoughts aloud. There's benefits to hearing something spoken. It can sound just fine in your head, but once it actually hits your ears, you realize how stupid it is. These are cases when talking aloud by yourself is a huge benefit. No one else needs to know that you were contemplating writing a musical about dancing flamingos in spandex pantsuits.

I've had the story I worked on for NaNo developing in my head for about four years now. There are four different stories within the story arc. That's a lot of scenes and quite a few characters. But I have other stories with other characters, too. That's a lot of people crowding up my thinking, and sometimes I just need an outlet. So, I talk to them; they talk back. It's fine until someone overhears you. I may need to put a Bluetooth headset in my ear permanently for when this happens in public.

That would actually help with the last one, too. I practice conversations before they happen. Maybe it's part of my introversion. Maybe it's unrelated social anxiety, but there are times when I feel more prepared for dealing with someone if I have practiced the conversation a few times to get a feel for how it is likely to go. Sometimes I know the conversation is inevitable, other times I'm practicing an unlikely-to-occur event for the fun of it--I've actually used those once or twice.

But then you get caught. I have been caught. It's embarrassing. Even though I'm not doing a single thing wrong, just a little weird. Should it really be called creepy, though. If I'm mumbling about killing someone, ok, yes. But simply complaining aloud about a talking cat that is too smug for his whiskers? That's not creepy…at least I hope it's not.

I am sincerely trying to at least be more aware of what I'm doing when I talk to myself. I've become hyper aware of just how much I do it. But I don't really want to quit because, let's face it, it's fun.


Want to read more about my introverted misadventures?
Check out these posts:

I Hugged a Stranger
Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
Shhhh...I'm Introverting