Coming out of my shell
I am not a social person, I long for a world composed of a solitary figures living in self-imposed exile. My premise is much like Imperial Japan from a couple centuries ago, except I don't have samurais battling ninjas over my person, at least not yet.
It isn’t that I am anti-social, Bob is capable of being friendly, personable and, on rare occasion, the life of the party. But being nice to others is asking so much for so little benefit, and as I said before social niceties are a must; I might loathe everyone but it is my duty to be pleasant. So, in lieu of spending my time exchanging empty nothings, I opt to stay way from the teeming masses and watch cartoons. It isn’t a terribly exciting life: I don’t have sex with lots of woman, nor do I generally discuss the meaning of existence, discuss the relevance of Spinoza and it is been years since I debated the etymological evolution from soda to Coke to pop and back again.
Sometimes I regret being a recluse, not because of the people but their ideas and actions have always fascinated me. I enjoy watching people throw up, listening to empty headed twenty-somethings claim God is dead and religion is unnecessary and even witnessing the horror that is the human mating ritual. However these moments of social longing are easily satisfied by spending a few hours with my peers. I try to look through their eyes, understand what drives them and find some relation between their existence and my own; generally, after these brief excursions, I go home and throw up.