[I wasn’t too sure about posting the entry below. Smacks a bit too much of psychoanalysis and self-indulgence IMHO. We’ll see how long it stays up.]
My friends are great ones for forcing me to haul ass and meet new people. I swear if it were up to me, I’d prolly only know and be comfortable with a handful. My very non-best friends (can’t say BFF. Superstitious *knocks wood*) are people like Lil and Dali who took the time and trouble to get to know me. If Dali hadn’t texted me and said, “Burger King Centrepoint Orchard. I’m on the way. Don’t run off”, we’d prolly still be stuck in our online
affair relationship. Through Dali I am now friends with err… Ravi, through Lil with err… a lot of people 😉 . Another example: if it weren’t for Lil Ms D brushing off my excuses for not going out, I would never have met some really interesting people like an anthropologist and a couple O&G insiders (and score free wine and pizza 🙂 ).
It’s not that I hate meeting people (or do I? hehe), it’s just that underneath that inane grin and chattering facade, my head hurts like hell and I’m painfully aware that I’m awfully uncomfy. MC says that my problem is not shyness per se, but some weird social retardation thingy that makes me afraid of social gatherings. Introduce me to someone new and I can chat up a storm, no problem, but inside I’m sweating buckets and I can painfully feel every thump of my heart in my head. Only after several sessions of this do I feel more comfortable around the new person and gradually, no more pain or stupid impulses to run away.
It’s a wonder I even have any friends, but when I was thinking about the whole thing as I wrote this post, I thought, ‘hey, maybe it ain’t a bad thing after all!’ As I get older and infinitely grumpier, I am less able to deal with superficiality and deadbeat acquaintances. Maybe this is nature’s way of ensuring I don’t try to befriend all and sundry, but to limit my energies and lovin’ to a smaller number. Haha. I wish. I’m just fucked up. Period.