I think it is interesting that it takes alcohol for me to socialize like a normal person. For me to include myself in conversation, or work up the courage to introduce myself to someone new. Or even for me to relax. At all. I don't like its effects, though. My medication-induced low tolerance for alcohol doesn’t accommodate even moderate amounts very well. But at least I was able to carry on a casual conversation with my dad’s coworkers at the bar, and the barn people at Jalapeño’s. A glass of wine or two and I feel excited about life, and social, like I did before real life hit. Like I did when I was fifteen. Just normal, I think; like someone my age is supposed to be. I feel eighteen, instead of twenty-four. Why do I usually feel twenty-four instead of eighteen? Because I’m a worrier, if you haven’t already noticed. I worry worry worry about everything; stress is my Siamese twin. Most of the time anyway. But not after a bit of alcohol, caffeine, and sugar. Is that what it takes for me to feel as care-free as someone my age is supposed to be? It’s not worth it, I don’t think. Even in this state I can tell that I don’t like this dizzy feeling. I don’t like the way I can’t find my feet beneath me as well as usual. I don’t like this feeling of wanting to eat everything in sight yet not really tasting it. And I don’t like having to watch my tongue so closely. Reign it in so that I don’t say something I regret, whether that means giving away some dark secret or just saying something stupid. I do the latter often enough when I’m completely sober; I don’t need alcohol to make me look like even more of an idiot. At least my parents were with me all evening. I don’t drink if they’re not around. They keep me from doing and saying stupid things. Not that I’ve ever drank enough to do something really stupid. Just kind of stupid, like talk too much about stupid things. But to me, that’s a big deal. When I am completely sober, I can hardly bring myself to speak without being spoken to. So, tipsy-ish, at least I can enjoy the company of people whom I haven’t known for months and months. At least I can talk to relatively new acquaintances without twisting my fingers nervously in my lap, or my eyes darting back and forth, anywhere but into the eyes of whomever I am speaking to. Sad, you think? Yeah, maybe. But what’s so bad about being alone? What’s so bad about not needing people; about not being a social butterfly? I suppose God says it’s not good for man to be alone. But I’m not a hermit. Ok, relative to my friends I suppose I am. But I am not isolated. I can socialize. I won’t vomit or break out in hives or have a nervous breakdown. And when I’m around people I know well and care for, it doesn’t really feel like I’m with “someone else”. Because the people I’m comfortable around are the people I feel some sort of connection with, as if we embody the same type of soul. Or, in part our souls are the same. Or something. With kindred spirits it’s better than being alone, and though true kindred spirits are few, I've been blessed enough to meet some. There are the kindred spirits, and there are those who are still on trial. The ones on trial are still good to be with, because I want to find out more about them. About them and how I relate to them and how they relate to me and what that means for the way we will relate to each other in the days weeks months and years to come or if they are even interested in a real connection. Because a real soul-connection is what really matters, regardless of the nature of the relationship (romantic, platonic, blood). If the minds don't intrigue, if you don't want to hear what the other person has in them to say, then what's the point? If you don't really want to understand one another, then the true depth isn't there. There's more to true family than blood. There's more to true friendship than some laughs. There's more to true romance than holding hands (thank you, Beatles; no one could have said it better). The two people in any sort of relationship must care so much about one another, or be so intrigued by them, that they want to understand them--the way they think, what they feel about anything and everything, what they believe in and why. What else is there to a person than that, really? What else is there that is real than what resides in the soul? The body doesn't count; it's a shell, a tote-bag for the spirit. Take away the body and what is left? The soul. To really sustain a true, lasting relationship, both parties must care about the other's soul, and what resides therein. Who that person really is; what makes them who they are. What is their essence; what gives then that essence. If one doesn't care about those things...what is the point? What else is there to care about in a person than the dynamics of their soul? Only illusions that will drift away like smoke, carrying the fraudulent ghost of a connection with them.