like a tree falling in the forest with no one around

I've noticed recently that the way I drive is ridiculous. Not that it's dangerous, mind, or uncouth, just that it's rather silly. Lots of fingertapping, lots of making faces. I crook my pinkies when I'm turning, as if I'm expecting high tea to be served from the passenger's seat. Of course, I also make silly faces when I'm sitting and doing nothing. Right now typing this, I've pursed my lips and crooked an eyebrow. I can't seem to stop my thoughts from affecting my expressions as I sit here at my desk at work with only my thoughts (and the largely empty room) for company. I grin at the thought of my team winning today. I scowl at the thought of battling tonight's traffic.

Ah, the trials of being an introvert.

Fortunately, we live in an age of electronic solitude. Despite the fact that I look as if I'm trying to communicate with an imaginary friend, no one notices. They're all wrapped up in their cell phones or web browsing or iPods. It's a great time to be constantly lost in your own head, since talking to someone else involves more effort than it's worth. They're probably on the phone or listening to music anyway.

In my head, this made a better blog entry. It was less to do with solipsism and more to do with my need to communicate, even if I can't see the expressions of those I'm communicating with. In the absence of conversation, my face does the talking, or my quirky little gestures. I think too much, and when there's no one to talk to, all the thoughts come out as odd expressions or unnecessarily cultured gestures. Much like this blog: it hardly matters if anyone is reading it anymore (I doubt it), because the point is that the expression is there, and the chance of someone catching it is about the same as someone actually responding to the smile that crosses my face as I sit in the coffee shop and relive a great Scrabble play.

Truly it's a great time to be lost in your own head. The internet and the prevalence of personal communication devices makes actually leaving the house to talk to people unnecessary. Your friends and coworkers don't have to be geographically proximal at all. Talking to someone who hasn't specifically contacted you seems almost intrusive. It's only tactful to respond to your screen and nobody else's. Still, my face goes on trying to communicate my inner life, with or without my approval. Just as well. It might be that sometime someone will notice my pointless little scowls and the inner monologue will become a conversation. Or maybe my friends will come home for a visit and I'll have someone to talk to besides the screen.

In my mind, this was an opening line. It would evoke a response. Even introverts enjoy communicating. But in the end, it's probably just another wry grin at nobody.

I need to get out more, eh?