There’s still something not quite right with my social skills – that will maybe never be right. I just don’t plunge enough. Or maybe ‘plunge’ is not the right word. Or maybe my inability to find the right word is an indicator of the problem. I do not become engaged in social groups at an acceptable pace. These people…in these scenes…they have seen me before – they recognize me – but when they see me, the look on their face conveys guarded hospitality, “I know you but I don’t,” …I’m the quiet guy, the distant guy…”I know who you are, man, but I worry that you think you’re better than me or you’re a serial killer or you just too painfully shy and I can’t deal with your shit and my own shit, sorry,”…or something — some social something…a social personal problem. With some of the social things that I have tried to do: Eckhart Tolle reading group, regular visits to the world’s most perfect locals bar, drum circles, pickup soccer games (before I became sloth embodied), a church even, after work happy hours (before I became Mr. Shutinsky last week) …yes…problems are still present and may never go away. Or maybe this is just my way. Maintain a bit of seperation until you find the right point of contact. A kindred freak. They’re out there but they’re rare. Somebody I can actually tell my thing to. That’s who.
Maybe I’m semi-sociopathic. Yikes, but maybe. I am socially fucked, I know that…I’m just not quite right. I know I have Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)…I haz a SAD. Big time and for real McReal.