Turns out that I'm contractually obliged to follow every non-work related real life people meeting with a lengthy pity-fest about how unlikeable, socially inept and down-right fucking weird I am. And so I renege on another contract, break another promise. Because I think I'm getting better, less mumbly surely, not quite as awkward, occasionally capable of maintaining an unstilted conversation with a complete stranger. Yes indeed, careful, careful, lest I make friends. But hold your jeers at even this modest muttering makeover, folks, because there's a flip side.
Last night's cycle home afforded me the wind-blown time to get straight in my head just what it is that I have replaced painful shyness with. The answer came as I peed fully frontal in a sea front bush. Pomposity, people, I have attained perfect pomposity. The accent and bearing have given me a head start, but I've taken that affected ball and run with it and am now well on my way to David Norris levels of magniloquence.
Still, at least nobody punched me in the face goodbye.
Bergson, the Big Bang, and Slo-Mo
8 hours ago