The Return of No-Fun Boy
The title above is not self proclaimed. It is something my first girlfriend used to call me when, during an evening devoted to meaningless social pleasure, I derailed ease and grace if not just by my sullen presence, through malevolent intent. I see now that what she, and most others, crave from friends gathering in the public sphere is a low-intensity babbling that functions some what like a drug. I used to make a habit of getting in-between junkies and their inebrients, and the results were as sour as you'd expect.
Now, here I am, unable to sleep at an ungodly hour when I can't even purchase the drugs that might ease my burdens. The Hotsy Totsy opens at six. I pray that I am not still awake with these thoughts then.
G flatters me by saying that there is no small talk with me. I thought she was being generous in that appraisal, as I have spent the last six years cultivating a somewhat aggressively social public persona. Probably my 'transformation' had more to do with the generosity of my companions than my self-perceived charms. This year, however, has done a great deal to undo what half-assed intentions I once had. I bought off my anger, my distance, my essential awkwardness, with loud laughter and lots of drinks, I romanced it like a visiting friend, but I don't drink the way that I used to and I think it's gotten wise. Obviously it will be around longer than any one else, unless I die as early as my dreams profess, so I should, as a bit of tactics, come to terms with it.
I'm afraid also that I have bored to distraction the one friend I've been discussing this with, and set the terms of our friendship too strangely. That just the sort of thing no-fun boy would do.