1 Cup of Introversion, 1 Cup of Detachment, and a Teaspoon of Germaphobia

Becoming a germaphobe is a logical addition to the existence of a detached introvert.  I have a minor touch of germaphobia – it is transparent to most of the world (I think).  

It doesn’t keep me confined to my home.  I don’t wear a surgical mask and gloves when I go out in public.  But I do have a little container of hand gel in my pocket at all times.  I do take notice of the layout of public bathrooms- ideally faucets, soap dispensers and paper towels are touchless.  Automatic hand dryers are not favored, because I need a paper towel to wrap around the door handle when I exit.  

I do shake hands, although I do keep in mind that my right hand needs sanitizing at the next opportunity, and I certainly won’t eat or drink anything until then.  Until I wash that hand, in my mind, it is the giant, throbbing, bright red hand of a cartoon character that just had his hand crushed by a hammer. It is screaming for attention.

But what does this have to do with being a detached person?  I think it is a condition that supports my premise that I am better off being away from others.  If I were on a deserted island, I would have little chance of getting the stomach flu because someone wiped his ass and then inexplicably decided not to wash his hands, but rather touched common surfaces with those infection-laden hands and exposed me to his sickness.  

It allows me to judge others.  If you are coughing into your hands, or just plain coughing in some awful, wet, raspy manner out in public instead of in the comfort and solitude of your home, I conclude that you are inconsiderate and dense.  And this feeds my detachment condition.

So yes, my germaphobia is legitimate- I genuinely have a strong aversion to being  exposed to germs and viruses.  But it also feeds my antisocial condition, which degrades the quality of my life significantly

Perceptions of the Detached (v.20150417)

There was an old Twilight Zone rerun I remember watching as a teen (“Time Enough at Last”, 1959), where I believe there was some sort of nuclear holocaust, and the only living person was this bookworm who was heavily henpecked by his wife.  The guy was totally elated to be the only survivor, as he now was free from being bothered by everyone, and could spend the rest of his life doing what he loved, reading books.  Of course as he made his way to the library, he ended up breaking his eyeglasses, tragically leaving him unable to read ever again in a world lacking ophthalmologists.

As a teen, I was jealous of this guy (up until the point where he broke his glasses).  Books, primarily science fiction, were my escape.  (If only I could have valued school books similarly, I wouldn’t have finished in the bottom third of my class in high school).  Fast forward decades, I’m still the same person.  I want to be left alone, all the time.  But what kind of life is that?

Engaging with others for long durations is awkward and exhausting.  The digital age is a godsend, being able to text and email instead of communicating in person on on the phone.  Big group interactions are best proceeded by a few drinks to take the edge off.

I have a pretty clear idea of why I became this person.  Part of the utility of this blog is to walk myself through how I got here, and possibly explore how I can mitigate these urges to be isolated.  If nothing else, I’m sure that there are countless others that can relate.  It is more than just shyness or introversion.