Dark clouds

In which we are bad at socialising


Today, I should really be writing something topical, like the Chernobyl disaster, as Ms NB did so very eloquently a few days ago. Instead, you get a follow-up from Monday’s post: more angst and whining. A different type of dark, dangerous cloud, if you like.

On Saturday night, you see, I went out to somewhere I’d not been before. It was, though, somewhere I was looking forward to visiting a lot. Let’s call it the Netherthong And Wooldale Theatrical And Social Club.* Now, overall, I had a really good time there. I came home happy and bouncy, and stayed that way for several days afterwards. Now, though, I’ve dropped. Moreover, I’ve dropped back to the state I was in for most of Saturday night: the feeling that when I was there I was the only stranger in a crowd of friends, the only singleton in a crowd of couples, the only person who noone else wanted to talk to or engage with. No doubt this isn’t true, but that’s what keeps getting stuck in my head. It isn’t a nice drop.

I’d love to go back to the Netherthong And Wooldale Theatrical And Social Club,** but I’m worried that the same thing will happen again: I’ll just sit and feel down and lonely, which in turn will put people off wanting to talk to me. Moreover, the feeling that noone there knows me and noone there will have noticed me, leaves me wondering whether it would even be possible for me to go over there again – without knowing anybody over there, I can’t get anybody to invite me inside. It makes me think, firstly: do I really want to do this? Which leads to, secondly: unless I do, there’s no chance I’ll ever not be lonely. And, thirdly: don’t be silly, you’ve wanted to get to know this crowd for years! Don’t pull out now when you’ve brought yourself so far.

* Because that isn’t its name.

** Maybe I should have thought of a shorter disguise.

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