I've twice started to write something about why I've started going to my high-school reunions and twice run aground on the shoals of having nothing to say. I'm going to my forty-year reunion tomorrow. And yet it really makes no sense for me to put myself through another social ordeal, this time without my Paxil shield, when I could be safe in my cocoon, hiding in my basement.
You know, it probably doesn't make sense, as Bob Newhart put it somewhere or other, but I'm going to do it anyway. And with any luck I won't collapse into a pile of gibbering protoplasm, struck down by terrors invisible to everybody else. (I hate it when that happens.) I may even enjoy it. We'll see. Stay tuned.
1 comment:
I missed my ten-year reunion. I hate to say it, but everyone who I cared about, who I wanted to be part of my life, was given a shot at re-entering it when I started up my blog, and none of 'em showed up. I have no time for people who have no time for me, and I won't participate in people's absurd "collect 'em all" mentality over at Facebook.
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