Yeah, I could do that; I could leave my cave to join in the fun. There is nothing to fear in social interaction – except the awkward instance where silence prevails and the bruising collision of elbows and arseholes on the killing floor. I dread the confusion and babble of the crowd. I’m filled with a dread of the social – I always feel like a mouse in a roomful of cats.
I should socialise more often. It would be good for me – I’m told. I should meet more people and get out of my shell. Once I’m there I might find I enjoy it – stranger things have happened. There is no use fretting about how others might perceive me – I’m quite normal in my own offbeat way. Once I’m out I shall adopt the disguise of nonchalant man about town – the kind of man who is always going out. The kind of man who gets things done – like talking to people and having fun.
Decisions, decisions – how I hate to make decisions. I’m already in a lather at the very thought of venturing out into the abstract world. My home is warm, my home has walls designed to keep the outside at bay. I like it here wrapped in my own cocoon, delaying emergence until necessity forces my hand. The outside world is overrated, it’s harsh, abrasive and chaotic – and doesn’t even have carpet. I don’t know how it functions as a place it seems so disorganised and grimy.
I keep a universe indoors that is breathtaking in its linearity and organisation. It’s a place where events are scheduled properly and deviations and random occurrences are kept to an acceptable minimum. Who needs the outside world and its concomitant calamities when we can have a nice cup of tea in front of the fire and watch the crazy people out there do battle with the elements and air pollution?