I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain…

Saying Yes.

Participating.

This gets easier. This gets easier with age.

The pressure or the awkwardness wares off and eventually I learn to enjoy myself.

Sure, it’s not all perfect and always fun, but I make an effort.

Yes.

I’ll participate.

I’ll show up.

But I won’t necessary mingle.

I’m still the passive observer, outside of the crowd, looking in, watching, searching, looking, absorbing.

I’m still the loner on the fringe finding a connection.

My introversion defines me, but it doesn’t dictate my life.

I’ve learned that it’s a love hate thing, especially when it comes to me and socializing.

All elements have to line up before I feel comfortable.

What we are doing? Who’s there? Whom am I chatting with?

So much depends on atmosphere and my comfort.

But I participate.

I say yes.

It gets easier.

Life.

Socializing.

39.

I’m on my way to adulting and its decisions like these that help.

Socializing.

It’s a bitch.

* * *

Body.

Tired.

I haven’t felt this way in years and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

My knees hurt.

My joints hurt.

My legs hurt.

Sore.

Is it age?

Something else?

No idea, but I will persevere. I will survive and I’ll figure it out.

I think my muscles are tighter and I need to stretch.

I walk on average 11 miles a day while at work. That’s a big gradual uptick from the same time last year.

That could be the reason.

My legs need a rest.

I need a stretch.

Yoga.

Health.

I need to make a better effort to better my life, to be healthier.

I’m definitely not getting any younger.

Definitely not.

* * *

You blanked.

Blacked out.

Forgot that we chatted a bit at the shindig.

You asked me how it was. You say you saw me, but you don’t remembered what happened at The King’s Head.

You saw me, we said our Hi’s as I introduced myself to the people around you.

I hate you!, you proclaimed.

But you really don’t. The grin on your face, the twinkle in your eye betrays your words.

You say again, I hate you!

I nod, agreeing, okay.

I shook my head.

No you don’t.

You shook your head. No I don’t.

You didn’t remember any of this.

You forgot.

Blacked out.

Then you stuck your finger in my mouth.

THAT took me by surprise.

Wasn’t expecting it. The people around us weren’t expecting it either.

You laughed, smiled, as you left it there, me confused, then pulled it out.

That was that. No explanation. No comment.

Nothing.

I left it.

I left you.

That was it.

That was all.

Throughout the night, we’ll catch each other’s glances, exchange our mean faces and that was all.

But you didn’t remember.

I recounted what happened between us to you a few days ago, refreshing your memory, but you didn’t remember.

I left out a few bit parts.

You said you hated me.

You felt bad. Horrible.

You apologize for being mean.

For sticking your finger in your mouth.

I let you in on the little information that I purposely left out. I knew you didn’t hate me.

You told me to fuck off.

So easy.

Pushing buttons.

Your buttons.

Easy.