If a cow ever got the chance...

Thanks to everyone who signed the guestbook and everyone who read my wallowings... I kind of warned you this would happen. I just need to get it out of my system, then there will be more amusing entries about laundry and the inside of my apartment...

Actually I hope not, because that was part of the problem. This social anxiety disorder, or slight agoraphobia, or whatever it is, feels really dumb (I've been thinking about it a lot, faced with my recently expanded free time). I'm not a loser... but I don't go out anywhere with anyone because, honestly, I'm scared to. Then when I do meet people I become very nervous because I think they can tell--from my limited conversational gambits and the way I never mention any friends--that I never leave the apartment. After a few of these social horrors it seems best to stay inside. (Although, in an exception that proves the rule, Cyril and I are going to the Neko Case show on Friday night... The prospect is sort of terrifying and I plan to be moderately drunk all night. I'll let you know how it goes.)

65 to 70 percent is unfair to C. I just like to quantify things that can't be quantified, like safety. When I was with him I never had to worry about the stuff in the previous paragraph. He made me feel totally comfortable; I didn't have to make a good impression on him, or on anyone... partially because we stopped going anywhere together after a certain point, but it was originally a positive thing. I liked feeling taken care of, feeling safe.

I don't need to tell you about the problems with safe. How it can narrow your world. You start out dating someone because you can be very real in each other's presence. You feel more comfortable with them than with anyone in the world. Then, later, you realize you don't feel comfortable with anyone but that person. This is not good and you tell yourself that you should do something. Medication, or breaking up, but it doesn't happen. Then maybe you move to a new apartment and you have to fight the urge to put six locks on the door and you can't even go for happy-hour drinks with the coworkers anymore, and you realize you don't feel comfortable except in that person's presence. That's when you start to hate each other. I would love to undo that and become real friends again; part of me still thinks it can be done.

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