I'm Not Social Enough, I Don't Get Out

(NOTE: Based on time elapsed since the posting of this entry, the BS-o-meter calculates this is 4.824% likely to be something that Ferrett now regrets.)

Basically, I see myself as an asocial loser.  I sit at home all day, staring at either my work screen or my career screen or my play screen, and curl up and do nothing.  I have these occasional waves of what a sad man you are, you’re going to die alone, you know.
Which is not at all borne out by the facts.
Let’s take a look at the last two weeks:
The weekend of the 5th: My friend Angie came to visit us for the weekend, before I went to Rebecca’s headstone unveiling on Sunday.
Monday the 8th: went to a local poly meetup.
Wednesday the 9th: Woodworking Wednesdays.
Thursday the 10th: Got my nails done by my mad manicurist and we caught up on her love life, then back to the house for a bourbon and cigar evening.
Friday the 11th: My friend Jess came to visit for the weekend. Hit the Velvet Tango Room.
Sunday the 13th: Went to see Spy with Gini.
Tuesday the 15th: Had gaming night (playing nasty Vampires slaughtering Werewolves, yeah!)
Wednesday the 16th: Woodworking Wednesdays.
Thursday the 17th: CostCo date with Karla and Anil, going out and looking at new televisions.
Friday the 18th: My friend Ananda comes to visit us for the weekend.
That’s actually a pretty damned full schedule. And yet somehow, my brain is in this constant mode of thinking I’m a loser who doesn’t get out, and even chastises me for not being social enough.
And I’m not sure why that is. By many people’s standards, including my daughters, this kind of constantly seeing people would be exhausting.  Especially when you plop at least ninety minutes’ worth of writing into every day.
Like, I have friends.  But at some point, a switch got triggered when I was deeply alone and fourteen, and literally no amount of evidence seems to be able to sweep away this identification I have as an asocial loser.
I mean, it’s not a terrible thing. I don’t weep and lament about my social life.  But occasionally I’ll make some off-handed comment about not getting out much, and Gini will look at me and go, “Fuckin’ seriously?!?” and I’ll realize that crap, yeah, literally every weekend this summer is now taken and September is damn near gone and how is that the schedule of a man who’s got no friends?
And I’m self-aware.  I think of so many other people who were, say, bullied as a child and they eternally identify as victim even when they’ve risen past that to have all the power and have, in fact, become bullies themselves.  But deep down, something triggered inside of themselves where they’re always acting from scarcity no matter how much evidence they have to the contrary, and wow, is it a miracle that we humans manage to function at all.

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