INTP - not fitting in

The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator is a test (some people call it a personality test) that refers to one of sixteen types. The system was developed from Jung's work in his Psychological Types.

I've taken the test many times since I discovered (in the mid-1990's) that it was online and free. My results have almost always been the same: INTP

§ I – Introvert / Extravert: INTPs tend to be quiet and reserved; prefer interacting with a close friend or two, and they find social situations draining (whereas extraverts gain energy).

§ N – iNtuitive / Sensing: INTPs tend to enjoy the more abstract concepts, than concrete facts. The big picture is more
important to them than the details, and on future possibilities over immediate realities.

§ T – Thinking / Feeling: INTPs tend to value objectivity over feelings. In decision making, they give logic more weight than their feelings.

§ P – Perceiving / Judging: INTPs tend to delay important decisions, and prefer to keep options open, in case the circumstances change.

According to studies on Canadian and American people, using the Myers Briggs test results for the comparison, most Americans are extraverts whereas the majority of Canadians are introverts. This doesn't really surprise me. I have cousins in the U.S. They are constantly lamenting the energy it takes to pretend extraversion. Of course, my question to them was ... why pretend?

Well, apparently, in some parts of the U.S., introverts are regarded with something akin to suspicion. It's consid

ered "weird", "not normal", and "you could get over it if you would only try".

Well, there's another problem for me. I'm an INTP. What does that mean? Well, in American terms, it means that people like me (according to Keirsey), make up between 1% and 5% of the American population.

But there's worse. I'm an INTP and female. Thinking is considered a very masculine trait.

Women, at least within the parameters of North American culture, are expected to make decisions based on their feelings. I tend to make decisions based on what I think ... and I think the phrase 'get in touch with your feelings' makes me gag. The doctor I used to go to, kept asking me how I felt about how things were going in my life. After a couple of times, I snapped, "Don't ask me how I feel about something. Ask me what I think about it. That, I can answer."

I commented above that I am almost always an INTP. What happened the times I wasn't? One thing to remember about MBTI is that it's not black and white, but more like shades of grey. Sort of like a ruler with its markings between the two extremes. (Shown below.)

I had found a fairly complete version of the test online

and I decided to do the test at the beginning and end of each work day during a high-pressure contract in order to see what changed when I was under stress. The top graph shows where I land normally.

Well, I discovered that, under stress, I become more introverted, more of a thinker, and that I flip from INTP to INTJ. (Bottom graph.)

This explains why, at the beginning of a project, I say "Oh, just send me what you have and I'll slot it in somewhere and build the book from there." But at the end of the project, I'm more likely to say "I told you that the deadline was x. If you don't give me the information by that date, it won't be going into this version of the manual. Enough is enough."

If you are interested in the test, here's an online one that is, I believe, complete.

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes1.htm

Oh well

Well, my ex wasn't able to make it today. It was too bad because my godson had done an excellent presentation for church; it was very well received by the congregation.

Time to finish my homework for tomorrow, instead of playing on the blog. I have to make my villain more evil. That shouldn't be difficult, but it has to be consistent with his character in order to be truly believable.

Nothing Like

My mother ran our household
with single-minded rule.
She made our choices for us
for clothes and work and school.
With little say, my Gran and I
looked sadly at each other.
I murmured hopeful words to her
"I'm nothing like my mother."

My mother was well-organized
but lacked imagination.
She claimed I was endeavouring
to rise above my station.
I thought of the ideas she
was quick enough to smother,
and then I said, defensively,
"I'm nothing like my mother."

My mother died of cancer; she
was ill for several years.
I see the way I'm headed and
I'm trying to still my fears.
At the funeral, my friends and I
regarded one another.
I mouthed, again, the desperate words:
"I'm nothing like my mother."

Random

I handed in my entry for the Random House competition on Monday. Yesterday was the deadline, but I wanted to be sure that it got there, so I took it there in person.

Cutting the poems out was difficult at first. Last weekend, I sat down with the print out and was absolutely vicious in my editing. The ones I handed in were:

Nothing Like
Betrayal
The Voice (Parts I, II & III)
The War Room
Caroline Jane
...
and some sonnets, of course!

It ended up being 1,943 words. I could have entered up to 8,000 words, but really didn't think I had enough good pieces to pull that off.

What a weekend!

I'm looking forward to seeing my ex this weekend. It's been over a year.

Sorry, folks ...

... I haven't had time to download the pictures because I'm having too much fun driving! So, while the gas prices are still low, see ya later!

Weary ...

The new course is taking a lot of time and energy, so I've had no time for the blog, but at least it's interesting. Spending all my time on the laptop leaves me disinclined to read e-mails on my desktop; so much so that I've quit several lists that I was on.

Maybe I'll go back to those lists later, but I doubt it. It's much more pleasant to live at my own speed and on my own terms ... with no one else's schedule to make me jump through hoops.

Health Issues and Car Issues

At the end of March, I had a touch of some flu bug which kept coming back to me. I was obviously an amazing host.

Then I was very tired and kept getting migraines. Normally, a migraine prescription lasts me about two years. The last time it was refilled was December ... and, already, I have used almost a third of it. Last week (I nearly spelled it 'weak' ... hmmm) I started to feel so weary and draggy that I was barely making it to work. The rest of the time I was asleep ... and piling up dirty dishes.

The weekend, being Easter (and beautiful weather), I decided to make sure I had plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables in the house because I didn't want to be caught having to pay extra for things that are bad for me anyway -- processed meats, etc. Within a day, I was starting to feel better. So, I've turfed all the foods that I'm even mildly allergic to and eating only the basics that cause no reaction in me.

So far, this week, I've felt so much better that I went out and put down a deposit on a new car. Yes, I'll be getting a new Mini a week from tomorrow. Pictures will be available here soon.

Living History Conference

I went to the living history conference yesterday, in Hamilton, and ran into a friend I hadn't seen in about sixteen years. The last time we e-talked, she was teaching English in Japan. We hadn't touched base since she got home last year.

She introduced me to a number of the reenactors from various groups, and we ended up staying for the dinner and dance in the evening ... even though neither of us had the appropriate clothes. Dinner was fun, very silly jokes were exchanged, and I met some wonderful people from Toronto and Kitchener. In fact, I'm looking forward to getting together with the lady from Kitchener -- even if it's just for coffee -- although, from our conversations, it appears that we have lots in common.

It's made me pine for the works of Austen, Heyer, Byron, and Scott. I think I'll just go and meander through some books. "She walks in beauty ..." seems to be calling my name.

Couple of modern sonnets

I've cut some of the I's out of these, but not all. Do they still make sense?

I walk the silent streets alone at night
And stand bereft on corner islands lit
By graceless rays, while thinking that I might
Attempt to find some quiet place to sit.
In coffee-houses, dark and filled with smoke,
I struggle with ideas that mean nought
And heard the coffee-poets who revoke
Their own poetic licences when caught.
In institutions filled with weary brains
I wrestle with the concepts that are bound
To cause my death. At times there is such pain,
I wonder if my body would be found.
Condemned to highs and lows, this is my plight:
To walk the silent streets alone at night.

The Migraine
Hot pokers sear my mind, and in my brain
The lights -- electric blue and blinding white --
Impede my view. The fireballs in flight
Appear upon the edge of sight, then wane.
The agony has dimmed, to my delight.
But now, in cotton wool, I feel the strain
Of looking through a telescope in vain
Because it's turned around – the oddest sight.
Well finally, when throbs begin to wane
As medication dulls and puts to flight
Incessant thoughts about my head, I'm quite
Relieved to be no longer in such pain.
But now, compulsive chatter's at its height:
Murmuring thoughts, while rushing through the night.