So the new year's resolution was to Get Out More, even though I don't like it much, does there always have to be the doof doof music and the drinking and the garbled shouting, because I would rather talk and get to know someone. Anyone, really. But I was running out of excuses and lies to tell my friends, mum can only be Coming To Visit Tomorrow so many times before people start looking at you sadly and shaking their head.
Two nights in a row, a parade of red stamps up my arm. At least with Being A Hermit you never had to have that brief period of vodka-induced confidence when you dance and dance and be happy and somewhat engaging and think Hey baby! Those dance classes are paying off! Because it only lasts for appoximately 30 minutes before the old self-consciousness and hyper-awareness fades back in, brain first and then oozing back into the body, all heavy and blah. That's when I say, D'oh. I'm still the same big dork, just with added jelly limbs, smudgy make-up, skin stinking of other people's nicotine. Can't dance for shit and there's a blinding headache just around the corner. That's when I say, Can we please go home now? I have drunken emails and blog entries to write.