Month: April 2017

Daisy Feldman

I knew something had gone wrong with my emergency liposuction surgery when I heard my operating surgeon say, “That’s it. We did everything we could.” Seconds later, I was hovering over my own body and yelling at the doctor, “No you didn’t! You only removed my insurance card!” But nobody heard me.

The next thing I remember is floating gently away. I was overtaken by a comforting sense of tranquility as I drifted through a quiet tunnel towards a soft glimmering light. For the first time, I felt as though I was living in the moment. My never-ending conversation with myself faded away – for a few seconds and then I began talking to myself about why my never-ending conversation stopped.

I finally reached the end of the tunnel. I was met by un-defined figure who I assumed was a woman, although she could’ve been a male with a high-pitched voice. Regardless, she radiated a lovely aura. After greeting me, she said softly, “Join us.” I was overcome with a feeling of acceptance and understanding. After a lifetime as an introvert struggling to fit in, I had finally arrived at the place where I belong.

Imagine my surprise when we entered a large, bright room packed shoulder-to-shoulder with other un-defined figures, talking and laughing loudly. A stereo was pounding nineties techno rock. One by one, people approached me and spoke: “How are you? “What do you do for a living?” “I still can’t get over the great weather we have here.” “Why are you so quiet.” “Do these ill-defined jeans make my ill-defined ass look big?

My first impulse was to find a bathroom where I could be alone and gather my thoughts. Then I realized I was now in a place that didn’t require bathrooms.

As I watched a group of 20 noisy ill-defined figures play Tag Team Twister, I asked myself, what did all this mean? Is the afterlife just as unaccepting of introverts as the current life? Will we have to wait until Susan Cain passes on to the hereafter before extroverted spirits understand that there’s nothing wrong with a ghost wanting to stay home on a Friday night and read a book?

Or maybe it was not my time to die. At this point, it didn’t matter; I just wanted to leave. I wanted to go back.

Since I’m used to leaving parties early, this was the easiest part. I slipped out the door and drifted back through the tunnel, away from the light and noise. The next thing I remember I was lying on the operating table and a nurse, gasped, “Doctor, she’s breathing! She’s alive!” The doctor responded, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Was this all a dream, or is the afterlife one big noisy, crowded happy hour? I can’t say for sure. However, if you are an introvert who values your peace and solitude, I recommend strongly you practice walking away from the light, any light.

Artist’s models never hide anything from each other.

Sheila and Hank are nude artist’s models and introverts. In addition to being passionate about standing quietly unclothed for hours, they also share a love for deep conversation and perfectly sculptured love handles.

Hank: Being an artist’s model is my life. It’s the only job I’ve ever had where no one asks me, “Why aren’t you talking?”

Sheila: For years, I had a job giving out free samples in supermarkets. It was too much pressure. Too much human interaction. Too many salty snacks. One day I just snapped. I took off my apron and stood naked in Isle nine. I froze. No matter how hard I tried, I could not say “Would you like to try a gluten-free cheese ball?” As I was being led out of the building, I thought, “I’m nude and silent and have never felt so alive.” After having a newly-discovered mole removed, I immediately applied for a job as an artist’s model.

Hank: We met on the dating website, EmbarrassingRashMates dot com. Our first date was at a small, intimate café. We spent the whole evening talking about allergic eczema.

Sheila: We quickly realized we had so much in common: an appreciation for solitude, quiet thoughtful conversation and an aversion to cold metal seats

Hank: I feel blessed Sheila has chosen me to not share her most trivial thoughts with.

Sheila: We can be happy simply lying in each other’s arms, not talking about the weather. In fact, we could not talk all night.

Hank: Sheila has made me a better artist’s model. Before I met her, I would sometimes stand for hours, obsessing about a horsefly walking across my buttock. Now I think about the two of us, standing lovingly hand-in-hand, avoiding eye contact with an IKEA salesperson.

Sheila: Hank knows me better than anyone. I may earn a living posing naked in front of art students, but I’ve never exposed my heart to anyone but him – and the surgical team that performed my triple bypass.