The State Department sent word to the embassy in Turkey and the consulate in Lebanon today that all non-essential employees should evacuate. Try getting another job with that on your resume.

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Because it was 86 degrees at the beach and we were tired of hearing people complain about the heat, we went to Phoenix over the Labor Day weekend. 107, now that’s weather worth complaining about. There’s a road west of Phoenix called Baseline. We didn’t ask about the pronunciation, but I’m fairly sure it doesn’t rhyme with the petroleum jelly. And, really, petroleum jelly?  Ewwww.

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There’s also a place outside Yuma called Dome Valley. It’s apparently both convex and concave.

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We walked the dogs early in the morning and late at night, when it was a pleasant 86 degrees. (See what I did there?)  One morning I saw three crows circling around cawing and then landing on a light pole and cawing some more.  They were trying to attract more crows.  It’s called attempted murder.

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This is something I really don’t want to talk about, but maybe it’s time you knew.  I suffer from early onset shyness.

I’ve tried all the usual medications—scotch, gin, tequila, even beer—but I still end up cowering in the corner, looking at my fingernails. It doesn’t have to be a large group to send me into myself. I fall silent during phone conversations. I’ve sneaked away from parties at my own house. (I do realize that hosting a party is a contradiction in the first place, but it wasn’t necessarily my idea).

My parents used to sympathetically tell me to “just get over it,” to “get out there and talk to people, ask questions, be interested.” But that would necessitate my being able to do any of those things.

They drove us to Illinois for a cousin’s wedding when I was a kid. The wedding sort of glazed over me, as weddings are apt to do. At the reception I only knew my brother and parents, and my aunt, uncle and two cousins who were otherwise occupied being the groom and his family. So there I was drowning in a sea of strangers.  I drank as much of the punch as I could hold – fairly passive, Protestant punch no doubt, as I was just a kid and probably felt more effect from the sugar than from anything else that might have been in it – and walked around to small gaggles of people, waited for a break in the conversation and gathered myself to “get out there and talk to people.”  I looked pensively and said, “Mingle – mingle, mingle – mingle, mingle, mingle,” then nodded and moved on to the next gaggle.  It was the only way I could figure to be there without being there. And I’d already studied my fingernails during the wedding ceremony.

So, it’s not like I haven’t tried. I did once make an attempt to only associate with other shy people (or not associate, as the case may be).  I found a group called “Shy Anonymous” and thought it would be perfect. If anyone wants to be anonymous, it’s a shy person. So I dropped in.  About a dozen people were sitting in a circle on metal folding chairs, looking at the floor. No one said a word. It was really comfortable until some happy woman walked in and suggested everyone “share a little something about themselves.”  I ran screaming from the room.  Who knew it was a twelve step program.

What I really need is not Shy Anonymous but Shy Invisible, so secluded it can’t be found. I think I’ll look under the bed.