I am not the most social person. I don’t like big groups, loud music and sweaty clubs. Actually, I think I like the music but I don’t really like anything else. I am always reluctant to head out for a party or even dinner. I like meeting my friends in small groups. On dinner tables that are small enough for a single conversation. And conversations that flow easily. No awkward pauses, no time to think. Just plain good company.
Over the last few years, I have realized that my outings when it comes to catching up sessions and loud beer drinking evenings makes me feel weird. It starts with my first instinct to deny the invitation and if I do manage to say yes, my interest disappears in the first 30minutes. Then it is a mental countdown to when can I get out of there. And I hate the goodbye-s. Not because it is emotional or anything, but because that figuring out who is going where with whom and how to get home is a different issue altogether always. I live somewhere out of the way. It almost always means that I commute to home alone. So discussion is pretty pointless for me.
The worst bit is getting home. If I have even managed to have a moderately nice evening, I feel horrible and strangely empty on my way back home. This really horrible feeling of being alone creeps in and I wish I had never gotten out of the house in the first place.
I have wondered why so many times. Past few years, there might have been hundreds of times when I have returned home at an unreasonable hour. It never scares me and it never bothers me. In fact the days I have returned from work late at night, I have always felt peaceful or even content. These night out-s with friends always leave me with a tinge of sadness. Every time I go out, I try to unravel why. I can’t find an answer. I don’t think I ever will. But I might just reconsider going out. That ought to help. The hollow feeling at the end of the night is just not worth it.