Quite the Socialite
Sometimes I wonder why I torture myself. It’s not like I enjoy it. I actually have an aversion to pain which borders on excessive. And yet somehow every time I’m presented with the opportunity to do something I know I’ll never allow myself to live down I go ahead and do it. What am I talking about this time? I’m talking about socialising of course.
With the silly season comes silly parties and functions. I know, I just got done gloating about how I get to avoid that with the family back across the ditch. Unfortunately for my prickly sense of dignity they’re not the only people who celebrate Christmas. Go figure. That wasn’t so bad when I attended things like Coles Christmas parties. There I was guaranteed not to make a fool of myself. Why? Well, I don’t drink until I can’t stand up without the aid of the bar and I don’t have a habit of showing off what I learned at pole dancing classes. I don’t actually take pole dancing classes which helps. Try to restrain your disappointment. Here’s the thing, and it’s going to come as a shock so brace yourself, I’m not good with people.
Recovered yet? Good. I know, fancy the kind of person who can list exactly why those $9.90 broadband plans are a rip-off (without any input from either of the current affairs shows) being socially awkward. I know my world view will never be the same. Last night? That was the Christmas do for the book club I go to. Gets better. We primarily read fantasy books. Seems a haven for the socially awkward, wouldn’t you say? Well I say that when it comes to group situations there’s no such thing.
You see I have to make a confession. I’m painfully shy. I don’t use the term painfully lightly. In this instance. Please don’t search through my blog for examples of when I’ve done just that. That’d be sad. I’m so shy I don’t even know where I got the courage to join the damn club. At least during meetings I can speak at the appropriate time and mostly remain quiet. I don’t have to strike up a conversation. It’s so much easier. It’s so much less threatening. It’s such a cop-out.
Last night I faced a choice. Speak to people or sit in a corner. Or go home, I suppose. So I spoke. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I’d sat in the corner. corners are good. They’re like my native habitat. And the shadier the better. But last night, through sugar-inspired stupidity (I sampled a lot of my baking that day to make sure it was edible) or the corner equivalent of deforestation I am now woefully aware of my wretched conversation skills. I hate being aware of those.
That’s why I don’t like people.
Tagged: Fears & Neuroses, Hobbies.