Saturday, March 05, 2016

My social anxiety has been getting the best of me lately. The other night, there was a farewell party for a dude that's moving to Ohio and I wanted to attend because that guy was cool, he liked hockey.The party was happening in the bar on the ground level where I work and,unfortunately, it was some taste of Milwaukee festival this week, so it was packed enough where there was no place to sit and order food and barely enough space to squeeze in for a drink. So I walk in and see this, turn around and nope right out of there. Last night, there was a D&D&D night at the geek bar's "ale house". Dungeons and Dragons and Drinks. Yeah,I can get behind that concept. So can a lot of people, it seems. It also seems like the people it appeals to are large with facial hair that can only be described as "in dire need of a razor" and who don't practice very good hygiene. It wasn't too bad right away, I was able to get a couple beers and a Galactus burger in me before having to get right out that place.

A couple weeks back, early in the morning, I saw the cute girl who sits a couple rows away abruptly leave after taking a phone call. As she left, it looked like she might be crying and she wasn't back the rest of the day or the following Monday and Tuesday. I got concerned that maybe something was wrong, so I made her a homemade French silk pie because that shit makes everything okay. I made it for her, but could I give it to her? No. I didn't want to be the creepy guy who noticed she had a bad day and made her a pie.

When I went grocery shopping the other night, I was struggling with the plastic bags they have for vegetables. Ever try to open those bastards one handed? I can tear them off the roll just fine, but actually getting them open and getting my spinach in there is a bit of work. A nice older lady sees me struggling and stops at my cart to give me advice on how to open them. I couldn't understand her at first because I wear my headphones to keep my Zombies Run mission going to get a couple extra kilometers in for the night, but when I noticed her I heard her mention holding it with two hands and pulling it apart. She then noticed me flailing the bag trying to open it and looked at my left hand, stopped mid-sentence and said "Oh, never mind."and practically ran away. I wanted to run away, too, but I wanted to get my groceries and I was only in the vegetable section, so pretty much just getting started. I mean, I understand that she was only trying to help, but I do my absolute god damned best to try to hide that this is a thing. I don't want the fact that my left arm doesn't work to be a defining characteristic of me. I want people to see what I had to go through to get where I am, how I basically had to relearn how to stand up and walk again. How I was so bad that I had to ride around in the fat people cart and had to walk with a cane. I don't need any of that anymore and I did that on my own. That's how I want people to see me, but I don't want to communicate it to them. I don't want to talk about how I still have my cane, just in case and how there was a time when I couldn't do any sit-ups at all.

said Tommy T. at 11:27 AM - #

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