I’ve earned it, I think. I have come to terms with the fact that I am an introvert. I don’t do well with small talk. If you ask me something like, “How are you?”, I will answer with a tentative, “I’m fine.” What I really want to say is something like, “Do you have five hours?” Not that I am *not* fine, just that it would take me that long to tell them anything about my life at that given moment. I know people don’t really want to know all of the details of my mostly boring life. Parties? I am so awkward at parties! Not only do I have trouble making interesting conversation, I also have a tendency to hear just about everything that goes on. Even if I can’t make sense of the other conversations, I have great difficulty carrying on one of my own.

I went to a party today. It is an annual 4th of July beach party that has been held pretty much ever since I can remember. The Piedmont party. Back in the day, I remember sitting round a gigantic beach fire in front of the Piedmont cabin, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores and lighting sparklers. The big Piedmont boys would fire Roman candles off into the lake. By big boys, I mean that they were much older than me — teenagers — and they didn’t seem to be afraid of anything. It was my favorite party. I could be a kid and run around with my cousins and, as long as I managed to stay out of the adults’ radar, I didn’t even have to be polite to anyone.

For a number of years we sort of stopped going to the Piedmont party. I don’t know why exactly. We were all friendly with each other. I think we were just focused on our own expanding families. The summer my brother died, we were once again invited. I remember that party well but I don’t really want to describe it here except to say that it served as a memorial commemoration of my brother’s life. It was just what my family needed and, although I haven’t attended every 4th of July party since, I get to it whenever I can manage to spend the 4th here. As nervous as I get about the whole thing because, you know, I am an introvert. What will I say when people ask me how I’m doing? Will anybody eat my lasagne, yada yada. I can’t exactly stay out of the “adults'” radar any more, can I?

Tonight? There weren’t any s’mores and nobody shot off any Roman candles. One of those crazy boys from all those years ago was talking about his grandchild IN MED SCHOOL!

I had a wonderful time but I’m tired now, totally worn out from all of that social interaction. I have retreated to the Lyme Lounge to be alone and download my daily dose of blather.

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 4th, 2013 at 8:08 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.