Confession #45

In the past two weeks, I have met more new people than I have in the past five years. Small talk comes a little more easily than it has in the past, but I still frequently find myself wanting to run away and hide. 

Because of this, I'm not the world's best conversationalist.

If someone were to ask about my major, for instance, right now I can tell you that the obvious and polite way to respond would be to tell them I am an English major and then inquire about their field of study (assuming I'm speaking to another student). However, when an actual person asks me this or any other question, I'm so busy forcing myself to speak (and make eye contact... I've been working on that one!) that it rarely ever occurs to me to use the manners I learned when I was little. It's only after conversation has dwindled and I am left to my own thoughts that I realize I should have shown interest in the other person as well. Those thoughts then haunt me for eternity...

Okay, not eternity, but a really long time. Three recent incidents are gnawing on my brain right now. (On the off chance that you, dear reader, are someone I have ever offended with my poor social skills: sorry 'bout that.)

After obsessively proof-reading this post about fifteen times, it has come to my attention that depending on how you interpret my confession, it might sound like I don't care what anyone has to say and that I would only reciprocate questions for the sake of sounding polite. That isn't the case at all! If you speak to me, I will genuinely devote all of my attention to you. (Even if I'm avoiding your gaze and nervously staring out the window, I'm still listening.) I'm just terrible at keeping the conversational ball rolling.

Now I feel all awkward about awkwardly confessing my awkwardness and having to give an awkward explanation. I should stop typing now.

Confession #44

I completely forgot today was Saturday. Yep. And my brain is fried. I can't think of anything good to confess, so I'm going to lay down some numbers instead. I see people on Facebook with hundreds of friends and think how pathetic I must look with my piddly little friend list. Just to see how social I really am (not), I broke my list down. 

Out of 55 Facebook friends:

• 49 are people I have actually met. (The others are people that added me, presumably when they saw we have friends in common.)
• 35 are people I have had an actual conversation with. That means more than just small talk.
• 4 are family.
• 4 are parents of friends.
• 13 are people I have seen in person in the last year.
• 6 are people I would consider to be genuine friends.

Six friends. That's all I have. But when people have nine hundred "friends", I have to wonder how their lists would break down.

Confession #33

Despite being older than most of my friends, I often feel like the youngest of the bunch.

It probably has something to do with the fact that I've spent the majority of the past six years under a rock.

(It's my birthday. That means my blog is now inaptly named. But I'm not changing it. Partly because I'm lazy and partly because I can't think of anything else that will roll off the tongue well.)

Confession #32

I'm terrible about buying anything and everything on a whim.

Giant bags of yarn. Scented wax that I can't even smell unless I'm right by the warmer. Decorative notebooks and folders. A robotic mouse. Impulse control is not my strong point. Not. At. All.