Bosh. And Blah. And Unearthly Hours.

I hate socialising.

The problem with having friends who have friends who have friends is that they are always out somewhere doing something. They wonder why you don’t join them, and ask you to. So you walk in a door you’ve never seen into a room that’s filled with people you don’t know, and being a competent, rational human being, you smile, say “What ho”, and survive.

Not me. I walk in, promptly get bothered because of the sheer magnitude of people (usually six or seven), feel shy, and discover I have no tongue. I am introduced, and I think of all the interesting things I could say, like “Hi, I just saved a monkey” or “I have a purple wallet”. I’d be interested if someone said something like that to me. I know I just have to smile and be polite, and settle down, and I’ll get along fine.

Instead of which, le idioteque Priyanka grins, mumbles something, becomes very interested in the décor of the room, sinks onto the bed, finds herself an insignificant little corner and demands food.

Four hours later, she walks out, heaves a sigh and scoots back home. So she doesn’t actually survive.

The funny part is, I can’t change this because I actually like being the girl in the innocuous corner. I like observing people, and I like the whole scene playing out in front of me. The funnier part is that most people wouldn’t call me an introvert. The funniest part is that I blame it all on my zodiac sign.

If you have an imagination, imagine what life would be if you were a cusp. And a Cancer-Leo cusp at that. I am no astrologer, but from what I understand Leo is the extrovert and Cancer is the introvert. Leo is the flamboyant, flashy leader and Cancer is the sentimental, wistful dreamer. So if I am a combination of the two, I should be some sort of Split Personality case, or, at the most, a dual kind of person. At least that would be a little exciting. Instead, fate chose me to be a very, very confused person.

So I blame my zodiac, and get away with being obnoxious at times and terrifyingly shy at others. That is not being a hypocrite. It is being an escapist. And it isn’t that bad either. At least I get the food.

I know I shall delete this entry after a week, because I shall realise that either I spoke too much, or that for once in my life I hit upon the truth. Or, I shall be undecided and decide to get rid of it just to save myself a headache. It won’t save me from socialising, though – I still don’t know why I hate that.