I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of.
(Oh dear.)
Reckless, angsty drunken post alert!!
Ah. I’ve just been down the Espy with my cousin. We saw a band. Frustratingly we couldn’t establish what they were called but they were great. They were kind of like a folksier, nerdier, less angry version of System of a Down. They had a Bez-esque useless member who stood around for the duration of the set in a t-shirt saying ‘Sam’, looking comically kind of bemused and lost, sipping a beer, occasionally pretending to take calls on his phone. He was superb. He reminded me somewhat of my parent’s neurotic stunned mullet of a dog, who is also called Sam (mental note: post about Sam the neurotic stunned mullet of a dog.) We made extended eye contact several times. I think although he was only pretending to look bemused and lost for performance art purposes, whilst I was genuinely feeling quite bemused and lost, we forged a point of connection, since he was doing it up on stage in front of quite a lot of people and probably appreciated having a genuinely bemused and lost person to connect with as a reference point.
It was great in general.
I never, ever go out to gigs and things like that these days. I don’t really have any friends, you see. He said tragically. It’s terrible.
I really had fun tonight. But my god. I’m twenty-eight. I never go out any more. I don’t really have any friends. I worry that my social skills have completely atrophyed through disuse. I sometimes go days at a time without speaking to anyone.
I have to find ways of turning this situation around. I’m missing my life. It’s just sort of swhooshing by and I’m standing there looking on with this kind of bemused expression, like Sam the bemused stunned mullet of a fifth wheel.
I always thought one day I’d be dancing and laughing and finally living, and hear Morrissey’s voice in my head, and think of him kindly. I kind of got there too, sort of, ish, for a while there. I actually had that moment. But now I’ve retreated back into reclusion again.
It’s so not good.
I feel like such an indadmissable freak.
I’d love to go out more. But I’m just so afraid of people.
(And I’m so drunk. I really shouldn’t be posting this.)
(But.. it’s important! I want to live, goddamn it!
I want to love!
Etectera!)
Wrong as I know it is, though, I need help. Ultimately in social contexts the charity and goodwill of others can only take one so far. One must be self-sufficient. I know this. I do; I rooly trooly do. But I need some fucking mentoring. I’ve become a complete fucking recluse.
I can’t promise to be wildly entertaining company; I can’t promise not to become tiresomely maudlin and self-piteous and pathetic once drunk. But I know that you would like me, if only you could see me etc. and I need to get out more. I’m a potentially perfectly good person who is just going completely to waste.
There must be ways to become a person who has a proper life. Who goes out, and socializes, and stuff.
There must be.
There must be.
I had such a good night tonight. It was fun. I was drunk. I danced. I flirted with strangers. I felt alive. I must go out more.
I am a socially retarded reclusive freakboy with no friends and I am too old to be feeling this unsure of myself.
SOMETHING MUST BE DONE.
I really shouldn’t post this really.
*throws caution to the wind, posts it anyway*
I throw it open to the floor: When you want to live, how do you start? Where do you go? Who do you need to know?
I have regressed to an awkward 16-year-old. I can’t believe it; but that is where I’m at.
Help me out here people.
