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Social animal: Y/N?
Check it out: I am totally writing in my LJ on a semi-regular basis. Kind of. Don't get used to it.
So after finishing this I realized that it got really, really long. I'd friends-lock this, but it would be kind of pointless and wouldn't really spare anybody's flist space -- I friend anybody who friends me (whenever I get around to checking, that is) whether they know anything about my personal life or not. Plus... I really just don't care what relative strangers know about me. I don't write explicitly about anything I'm uncomfortable having the world knowing, though I'll make references that only those who really know me would get. If I don't want someone to know, I don't put it on LJ. So I guess this is just to say: this is a long post concerned with the world in my head, which is full of WOE and OH NOEZ DRAMA and is really pretty boring. I'm just trying to sort some things out for myself.
I guess I feel compelled to write because I feel Significant Things are happening. But then I'm kind of self-absorbed and I pretty much always think some kind of drama is about to break out, within or without. In my defense, I'm right about 40% of the time.
I've had an interesting break so far, full of Family Drama (for once not involving me) and old friends. Really, that's not too bad a combination: the drama without friends would suck pretty bad, and having the drama makes me appreciate my friends more.
Probably it's spending time with my friends that make me think of this: I'm trying to figure out if I'm feeling any better in terms of brain chemistry. I'm gonna go with a tentative "yes", but if I say that I have to ask WHY. My immediate answer would be that I've managed to drag myself into a little productivity, which is my personal anti-depressant. That's simple enough, although I really should work on de-coupling my emotional state from my productivity level -- I'll never be productive enough, neither in terms of volume nor consistency.
What's REALLY baffling me is that another solution may have presented itself: being with people.
REVOLUTIONARY, I KNOW.
I saw John this weekend, and he and three friends of his (Katie, Anna, and Julia -- look, ma, I remembered names!!!) and I all went out to a hookah bar, after spending the entire afternoon hanging around his house with Katie. I think I actually handled myself okay. My anxiety level was only on a low, constant boil -- the level it's usually at if I'm around people I don't know but am not socially obligated to interact with. Thing is, this time I was interacting -- a lot more than I usually do, anyway. Usually I try to mentally crawl under the table or blend into the sofa pattern or whatever form of camouflage or escape is appropriate. This time I actually kind of participated in the conversation and I don't think I even caused any awkward silences.
And... I'm not sure... I think I had fun.
Which is really, really weird for me. The automatic association in my brain goes like this: me + people I don't know + feeling obligated to interact = low-grade panic attack + ensuing depressive phase brought on by being a social retard.
Usually the best I can say about hanging out with more than one person at a time (or possibly two people, if I know them REALLY well) is that I wasn't miserable and/or didn't make myself miserable after the fact brooding about it. So... this is a very strange thing for me to think.
John seems to think I might be an extrovert. I'm still not sure -- I have always clearly and firmly placed myself in the introvert camp, because being around other people made me unhappy and anxious and I didn't mind being alone. I described my attitude towards hanging out with other people as something that's not inherently fun or pleasant, in fact a bit of a chore (though not necessarily an unpleasant one), but I saw no reason to be a bad sport about it, so I would try to be sociable.
The thing is... I don't know, John might have a point. For one, while I don't mind being alone, being alone also encourages mopeyness, so the end result really is that being alone makes me depressed, too. I get sad if I don't talk to at least one friend at least once during the day -- secretly I am actually really needy and want daily recognition. And, hell, probably my favourite place to be "alone" is at a friendly hookah bar, surrounded by quietly chattering people who don't interact with me and friendly waitstaff who do, as I conduct some solitary activity like writing, reading, or editing, with my computer connected to the wireless network so I can occasionally answer my online friends in a disjointed conversation.
From that last part I gather that I don't actually mind being around people, as long as I'm not required to interact with them and they aren't... exuding too much presence? I really don't enjoy eating my work lunches at the local mall, where the food court is very noisy with many people. And I am a little antsy in my office, especially when people have conversations in here or out in the hall where I can hear them -- as long as it's just me and my officemate working quietly and no one being loud in the hallway, I'm pretty okay. (I REALLY hate it when my chattier/nosier coworkers come in here and try to converse with me. I REALLY hate it. But I don't think anybody knows that, as I try my best to be friendly, if not chatty.)
So maybe I am an extrovert. In which case I really should try to interact with people more -- it might help my head. I don't enjoy my head most of the time -- it's not really that great a place to be for me. But I had a surprisingly depression-free weekend, despite doing things that usually cause me to mope.
Dude, I totally know what has caused my sudden lack of low social confidence.
It's totally the hair, man. Getting a new haircut totally gave me a new perspective on life.
Well, no. I'm unwilling to buy that. I maintain that my moves from hip-length hair to upper-back-length to "less than two inches" were all motivated by convenience. (PS: The first time I washed my hair after getting it cut I was UTTERLY DELIGHTED because it took like THIRTY SECONDS.)
But, I don't know. Maybe there's some truth to it. I'm not a different person, but I think the haircut is all of a piece with my efforts to fix my life. It's a little step -- it just helps me take quicker showers and generally not bother about my hair as much -- but it's a long journey.
I don't want to be depressed my whole life.
There, I said it.
I accept that I have a lifelong condition centered around a chemical imbalance in my head and that, unless I take drugs to alter my brain chemistry (No.) or somehow recondition myself through therapy, it won't go away.
The logical extension: my default state for as long as I live will be just shy of "miserable", and anything better will take effort to achieve and maintain.
But... I'm jut not willing to accept that logical step anymore.
Honestly, that sounds like a pretty shitty deal!
I had a good time this weekend. I was content. This is really rare for me. I usually seem happy, if quiet -- I'm told I have a naturally cheerful disposition, and I smile automatically and genuinely whenever I talk: that's my default expression. It's not a facade, it's nothing nearly so dramatic as that.
It's... hard to explain. I see it as having two emotional layers: whatever transitory emotion I'm experiencing at the time, and a deeper, broader, "background" feeling -- the backdrop of my life, the stage against which my transitory emotions are set.
If you will let me have a dramatic moment, I will say that this "backdrop" is usually best described as a big black pit of misery. The back of my mind spends most of its time wallowing in a pit of self-reproach, sending me occasional reports from the front lines; cheery notes like "two more accomplishments deemed inadequate; we are surrounding a third using 'your mother would be disappointed' maneuver, over." It's a pretty retarded way to live, really. Oh hell, it's not even as exciting as that. I was just trying to inject some absurdity into a, well, patently absurd way of life. Honestly, it just feels like a blank, empty kind of ... not sadness, just... something that takes happiness away. Not really an emotional black hole or anything; nothing nearly so dramatic. It just... dwarfs whatever else I might be feeling.
I found a way to describe this to my therapist. It's like the scale of a graph. I think most people have had that cute lesson about the Lies of Statistics where they show you, say, a graph of some company's revenues that looks like the revenues for the period went up and down a lot but overall shot WAY THE HELL UP. Then they show you a graph that looks TOTALLY DIFFERENT, and the revenues hardly went up at all -- but it turns out it's the exact same data, just on a different scale.
That's what it is. A difference of scale.
Hey, dude, this is totally my cue to make an Excel chart. Pardon me while I do something totally geeky to explain my emotional state.
Okay, here we go.
That's my surface emotional state. It changes with normal life events: kittens = happy! Family drama = unhappy!
And here is the very same emotional data scaled to fit alongside my background state. Generally the background state has nothing whatsoever to do with the surface emotions.
And I'm not sure where this weekend fits into this analogy. It's not that the background noise disappeared or everything suddenly changed scale to fit on the same graph. I can't tell if the background noise changed into the contentment I felt. I don't even know if "contentment" is the right word. Honestly it was just a lack of the nagging feeling that I suck and that my life is pointless and meaningless. Is that what being content is? I have voices in my head: they are my mantra, and they speak in my voice and no one else's, not even my mother's. They say "I hate myself" or "you fucking idiot" or "you really can't do any better, can you?" I actually slip up and say these out loud to myself occasionally. It doesn't happen nearly as much as it used to -- but it used to happen all the time, especially after I was departing from some kind of social interaction. The moment I was alone -- usually when I got in my car -- I would completely involuntarily start whispering those things to myself over and over. Probably this is a bad sign, and it sounds so ridiculously melodramatic! Honestly, it doesn't feel dramatic to me. This is just how I live: some people tap their fingers in absent-minded habit; I talk down to myself. It's just... how it is.
And... it's not that I stopped thinking these things this weekend. I'm always thinking these things -- again, that's just how it is. No drama, just life.
It's more like... they didn't feel... as damning. I still felt supremely awkward around John's friends and berated myself constantly in my head over that and many other things.
God, I want to pin this feeling down so badly!
I want to understand what happened. I think it started at the hair salon, where I made what was for me effortless and pleasant conversation with someone I'd never met before, my hair stylist Donald. He complimented me, saying that I seemed like an interesting person and that he regrets that I have to go back to school and won't be a regular, that he would have liked to get to know me better.
I was touched, really. I'm still touched; I'm resisting tearing up a little as I remember it.
Does it mean that much to me, to be able to interact with someone so easily, to be rewarded for not being a socially retarded asshat with a compliment?
On one level this disturbs me very deeply: am I that dependent on others' opinions of me? I don't want to be. It's a bad thing to be dependent on.
But I can't deny that even if I felt a little awkward and boring as Donald and I chatted, it... felt good. And the rest of the weekend felt good as I was... not a complete social failure. I felt a little sad that I missed out talking to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bottle_of_shine completely -- she's one of those people I like to touch base with every day, the ones I get mopey without. (PS, Nay, I am TOTALLY STALKING YOU.)
But otherwise... god, what happened.
I was not-unhappy.
How weird is that?
And man, I feel so guilty talking about this so much. I feel so stupid being so retardedly unhappy with life when I have nothing to be unhappy about. Sure, I'm having some family drama right now, and some school-related problems, and a few myriad other issues but... that's normal, right? Everyone has crap in their lives. And really I deal with that kind of stuff okay, I think. That's the surface emotional response. I'm upset about my family having problems. I'm nervous about school. I'm a little sad about my art and writing. But those are all manageable emotional responses, although each of them has the potential to spiral out of control and affect my background emotional level.
The point is, I have nothing desperately wrong in my life. How stupid is it, then, to be desperately unhappy in it? I feel awful about this. I'm surrounded by people with real tragedy in their lives. I consider my life to have been pretty much devoid of tragedy. I have so much going for me. How selfish and silly is it so be so absorbed in my own unhappiness??
See, this is why I'm trying to understand what's going on lately. I want to know what happened. I want to have the key. I want to be able to call back this not-unhappiness.
It wasn't just the time with John's friends. I'd kept up a somewhat steady exchange of emails withfirst_seventhe most of the week. I had a fun chat with Nay about how Stephenie Meyer still fails at writing. I had an enjoyable if intermittent conversation with someone I'd never met before and was complimented. I spent time with total strangers, a good friend, and a not-so-total stranger, and didn't make a complete ass of myself. I had a good talk with John when I drove him to the airport. I had an easy, relaxed conversation with the lady who stays with us on weekends as I drove her to the metro; she is a little like a family member thrice-removed in that she knows me and my family but I never talk to her.
This weekend was full of social success, and I was something like content.
So... tell me, should I keep trying? Am I an extrovert? Has this been the key all along?
If it was, then boy, let me tell you, I will feel pretty colossally stupid for missing it this long. What a silly reason to stay depressed: I couldn't figure out that I might enjoy spending time with people XD
On a different but related note, I think I should try taking up dance again. Most of my previous attempts have ended in tears and/or anxiety attacks, but this is a true fact: I love music. I love dancing. I think I'm horrible at both, but I love them, and I want to do them.
See, I discovered just a few days ago that my sister is learning to play the violin. She started in September. I'm a little jealous: I wish my parents had started me on music young -- it would have developed any faculties I had. I was moping about this when John gave me a well-deserved kick in the butt about it: age is no barrier. If I really, really want to learn to play an instrument, I can. There's nothing stopping me. If I think it would make me happy, I should go for it, crying and anxiety be damned. So I'll cry a little (well, okay, probably a lot XD) and have a few issues breathing, but if I stick with it and keep trying, I'll get over it, right?
And I'll have music. I'd give a lot to have music be a part of my life.
So why not just let go and give it a try? This weekend, I somehow disconnected from most of my past social retardation and just... went with it.
I want to capture that. I want to put it in a can and whip it out at opportune moments.
Also, I was reminded (by John and, embarrassingly enough, the movie Hairspray) that swing was the first kind of dancing I ever tried and that despite being a total failure at it I had loved it. So maybe I should stop trying the waltzing and tango and whatever and try getting into swing again.
Aw hell. This got really long. And rambly. And probably pointless. Anyway, I might just be imagining things and this is all a reaction to my folks being gone for a week =P
So after finishing this I realized that it got really, really long. I'd friends-lock this, but it would be kind of pointless and wouldn't really spare anybody's flist space -- I friend anybody who friends me (whenever I get around to checking, that is) whether they know anything about my personal life or not. Plus... I really just don't care what relative strangers know about me. I don't write explicitly about anything I'm uncomfortable having the world knowing, though I'll make references that only those who really know me would get. If I don't want someone to know, I don't put it on LJ. So I guess this is just to say: this is a long post concerned with the world in my head, which is full of WOE and OH NOEZ DRAMA and is really pretty boring. I'm just trying to sort some things out for myself.
I guess I feel compelled to write because I feel Significant Things are happening. But then I'm kind of self-absorbed and I pretty much always think some kind of drama is about to break out, within or without. In my defense, I'm right about 40% of the time.
I've had an interesting break so far, full of Family Drama (for once not involving me) and old friends. Really, that's not too bad a combination: the drama without friends would suck pretty bad, and having the drama makes me appreciate my friends more.
Probably it's spending time with my friends that make me think of this: I'm trying to figure out if I'm feeling any better in terms of brain chemistry. I'm gonna go with a tentative "yes", but if I say that I have to ask WHY. My immediate answer would be that I've managed to drag myself into a little productivity, which is my personal anti-depressant. That's simple enough, although I really should work on de-coupling my emotional state from my productivity level -- I'll never be productive enough, neither in terms of volume nor consistency.
What's REALLY baffling me is that another solution may have presented itself: being with people.
REVOLUTIONARY, I KNOW.
I saw John this weekend, and he and three friends of his (Katie, Anna, and Julia -- look, ma, I remembered names!!!) and I all went out to a hookah bar, after spending the entire afternoon hanging around his house with Katie. I think I actually handled myself okay. My anxiety level was only on a low, constant boil -- the level it's usually at if I'm around people I don't know but am not socially obligated to interact with. Thing is, this time I was interacting -- a lot more than I usually do, anyway. Usually I try to mentally crawl under the table or blend into the sofa pattern or whatever form of camouflage or escape is appropriate. This time I actually kind of participated in the conversation and I don't think I even caused any awkward silences.
And... I'm not sure... I think I had fun.
Which is really, really weird for me. The automatic association in my brain goes like this: me + people I don't know + feeling obligated to interact = low-grade panic attack + ensuing depressive phase brought on by being a social retard.
Usually the best I can say about hanging out with more than one person at a time (or possibly two people, if I know them REALLY well) is that I wasn't miserable and/or didn't make myself miserable after the fact brooding about it. So... this is a very strange thing for me to think.
John seems to think I might be an extrovert. I'm still not sure -- I have always clearly and firmly placed myself in the introvert camp, because being around other people made me unhappy and anxious and I didn't mind being alone. I described my attitude towards hanging out with other people as something that's not inherently fun or pleasant, in fact a bit of a chore (though not necessarily an unpleasant one), but I saw no reason to be a bad sport about it, so I would try to be sociable.
The thing is... I don't know, John might have a point. For one, while I don't mind being alone, being alone also encourages mopeyness, so the end result really is that being alone makes me depressed, too. I get sad if I don't talk to at least one friend at least once during the day -- secretly I am actually really needy and want daily recognition. And, hell, probably my favourite place to be "alone" is at a friendly hookah bar, surrounded by quietly chattering people who don't interact with me and friendly waitstaff who do, as I conduct some solitary activity like writing, reading, or editing, with my computer connected to the wireless network so I can occasionally answer my online friends in a disjointed conversation.
From that last part I gather that I don't actually mind being around people, as long as I'm not required to interact with them and they aren't... exuding too much presence? I really don't enjoy eating my work lunches at the local mall, where the food court is very noisy with many people. And I am a little antsy in my office, especially when people have conversations in here or out in the hall where I can hear them -- as long as it's just me and my officemate working quietly and no one being loud in the hallway, I'm pretty okay. (I REALLY hate it when my chattier/nosier coworkers come in here and try to converse with me. I REALLY hate it. But I don't think anybody knows that, as I try my best to be friendly, if not chatty.)
So maybe I am an extrovert. In which case I really should try to interact with people more -- it might help my head. I don't enjoy my head most of the time -- it's not really that great a place to be for me. But I had a surprisingly depression-free weekend, despite doing things that usually cause me to mope.
Dude, I totally know what has caused my sudden lack of low social confidence.
It's totally the hair, man. Getting a new haircut totally gave me a new perspective on life.
Well, no. I'm unwilling to buy that. I maintain that my moves from hip-length hair to upper-back-length to "less than two inches" were all motivated by convenience. (PS: The first time I washed my hair after getting it cut I was UTTERLY DELIGHTED because it took like THIRTY SECONDS.)
But, I don't know. Maybe there's some truth to it. I'm not a different person, but I think the haircut is all of a piece with my efforts to fix my life. It's a little step -- it just helps me take quicker showers and generally not bother about my hair as much -- but it's a long journey.
I don't want to be depressed my whole life.
There, I said it.
I accept that I have a lifelong condition centered around a chemical imbalance in my head and that, unless I take drugs to alter my brain chemistry (No.) or somehow recondition myself through therapy, it won't go away.
The logical extension: my default state for as long as I live will be just shy of "miserable", and anything better will take effort to achieve and maintain.
But... I'm jut not willing to accept that logical step anymore.
Honestly, that sounds like a pretty shitty deal!
I had a good time this weekend. I was content. This is really rare for me. I usually seem happy, if quiet -- I'm told I have a naturally cheerful disposition, and I smile automatically and genuinely whenever I talk: that's my default expression. It's not a facade, it's nothing nearly so dramatic as that.
It's... hard to explain. I see it as having two emotional layers: whatever transitory emotion I'm experiencing at the time, and a deeper, broader, "background" feeling -- the backdrop of my life, the stage against which my transitory emotions are set.
If you will let me have a dramatic moment, I will say that this "backdrop" is usually best described as a big black pit of misery. The back of my mind spends most of its time wallowing in a pit of self-reproach, sending me occasional reports from the front lines; cheery notes like "two more accomplishments deemed inadequate; we are surrounding a third using 'your mother would be disappointed' maneuver, over." It's a pretty retarded way to live, really. Oh hell, it's not even as exciting as that. I was just trying to inject some absurdity into a, well, patently absurd way of life. Honestly, it just feels like a blank, empty kind of ... not sadness, just... something that takes happiness away. Not really an emotional black hole or anything; nothing nearly so dramatic. It just... dwarfs whatever else I might be feeling.
I found a way to describe this to my therapist. It's like the scale of a graph. I think most people have had that cute lesson about the Lies of Statistics where they show you, say, a graph of some company's revenues that looks like the revenues for the period went up and down a lot but overall shot WAY THE HELL UP. Then they show you a graph that looks TOTALLY DIFFERENT, and the revenues hardly went up at all -- but it turns out it's the exact same data, just on a different scale.
That's what it is. A difference of scale.
Hey, dude, this is totally my cue to make an Excel chart. Pardon me while I do something totally geeky to explain my emotional state.
Okay, here we go.
That's my surface emotional state. It changes with normal life events: kittens = happy! Family drama = unhappy!
And here is the very same emotional data scaled to fit alongside my background state. Generally the background state has nothing whatsoever to do with the surface emotions.
And I'm not sure where this weekend fits into this analogy. It's not that the background noise disappeared or everything suddenly changed scale to fit on the same graph. I can't tell if the background noise changed into the contentment I felt. I don't even know if "contentment" is the right word. Honestly it was just a lack of the nagging feeling that I suck and that my life is pointless and meaningless. Is that what being content is? I have voices in my head: they are my mantra, and they speak in my voice and no one else's, not even my mother's. They say "I hate myself" or "you fucking idiot" or "you really can't do any better, can you?" I actually slip up and say these out loud to myself occasionally. It doesn't happen nearly as much as it used to -- but it used to happen all the time, especially after I was departing from some kind of social interaction. The moment I was alone -- usually when I got in my car -- I would completely involuntarily start whispering those things to myself over and over. Probably this is a bad sign, and it sounds so ridiculously melodramatic! Honestly, it doesn't feel dramatic to me. This is just how I live: some people tap their fingers in absent-minded habit; I talk down to myself. It's just... how it is.
And... it's not that I stopped thinking these things this weekend. I'm always thinking these things -- again, that's just how it is. No drama, just life.
It's more like... they didn't feel... as damning. I still felt supremely awkward around John's friends and berated myself constantly in my head over that and many other things.
God, I want to pin this feeling down so badly!
I want to understand what happened. I think it started at the hair salon, where I made what was for me effortless and pleasant conversation with someone I'd never met before, my hair stylist Donald. He complimented me, saying that I seemed like an interesting person and that he regrets that I have to go back to school and won't be a regular, that he would have liked to get to know me better.
I was touched, really. I'm still touched; I'm resisting tearing up a little as I remember it.
Does it mean that much to me, to be able to interact with someone so easily, to be rewarded for not being a socially retarded asshat with a compliment?
On one level this disturbs me very deeply: am I that dependent on others' opinions of me? I don't want to be. It's a bad thing to be dependent on.
But I can't deny that even if I felt a little awkward and boring as Donald and I chatted, it... felt good. And the rest of the weekend felt good as I was... not a complete social failure. I felt a little sad that I missed out talking to
bottle_of_shine completely -- she's one of those people I like to touch base with every day, the ones I get mopey without. (PS, Nay, I am TOTALLY STALKING YOU.)But otherwise... god, what happened.
I was not-unhappy.
How weird is that?
And man, I feel so guilty talking about this so much. I feel so stupid being so retardedly unhappy with life when I have nothing to be unhappy about. Sure, I'm having some family drama right now, and some school-related problems, and a few myriad other issues but... that's normal, right? Everyone has crap in their lives. And really I deal with that kind of stuff okay, I think. That's the surface emotional response. I'm upset about my family having problems. I'm nervous about school. I'm a little sad about my art and writing. But those are all manageable emotional responses, although each of them has the potential to spiral out of control and affect my background emotional level.
The point is, I have nothing desperately wrong in my life. How stupid is it, then, to be desperately unhappy in it? I feel awful about this. I'm surrounded by people with real tragedy in their lives. I consider my life to have been pretty much devoid of tragedy. I have so much going for me. How selfish and silly is it so be so absorbed in my own unhappiness??
See, this is why I'm trying to understand what's going on lately. I want to know what happened. I want to have the key. I want to be able to call back this not-unhappiness.
It wasn't just the time with John's friends. I'd kept up a somewhat steady exchange of emails with
first_seventhe most of the week. I had a fun chat with Nay about how Stephenie Meyer still fails at writing. I had an enjoyable if intermittent conversation with someone I'd never met before and was complimented. I spent time with total strangers, a good friend, and a not-so-total stranger, and didn't make a complete ass of myself. I had a good talk with John when I drove him to the airport. I had an easy, relaxed conversation with the lady who stays with us on weekends as I drove her to the metro; she is a little like a family member thrice-removed in that she knows me and my family but I never talk to her.This weekend was full of social success, and I was something like content.
So... tell me, should I keep trying? Am I an extrovert? Has this been the key all along?
If it was, then boy, let me tell you, I will feel pretty colossally stupid for missing it this long. What a silly reason to stay depressed: I couldn't figure out that I might enjoy spending time with people XD
On a different but related note, I think I should try taking up dance again. Most of my previous attempts have ended in tears and/or anxiety attacks, but this is a true fact: I love music. I love dancing. I think I'm horrible at both, but I love them, and I want to do them.
See, I discovered just a few days ago that my sister is learning to play the violin. She started in September. I'm a little jealous: I wish my parents had started me on music young -- it would have developed any faculties I had. I was moping about this when John gave me a well-deserved kick in the butt about it: age is no barrier. If I really, really want to learn to play an instrument, I can. There's nothing stopping me. If I think it would make me happy, I should go for it, crying and anxiety be damned. So I'll cry a little (well, okay, probably a lot XD) and have a few issues breathing, but if I stick with it and keep trying, I'll get over it, right?
And I'll have music. I'd give a lot to have music be a part of my life.
So why not just let go and give it a try? This weekend, I somehow disconnected from most of my past social retardation and just... went with it.
I want to capture that. I want to put it in a can and whip it out at opportune moments.
Also, I was reminded (by John and, embarrassingly enough, the movie Hairspray) that swing was the first kind of dancing I ever tried and that despite being a total failure at it I had loved it. So maybe I should stop trying the waltzing and tango and whatever and try getting into swing again.
Aw hell. This got really long. And rambly. And probably pointless. Anyway, I might just be imagining things and this is all a reaction to my folks being gone for a week =P
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