I’ve noticed a trend. I can go long periods of time without really hanging out with people, and I’ll think, “I’m weird and friendless and I’m going to die alone. With cats. I’m allergic to cats, but that’s what people do.” Conversely, there will also be times when every single one of my friends wants to do something, and I’ll think, “I am clearly a hot commodity. I’d like to thank the little people. Now I must deign to choose who to grace with my heavenly presence.”
Then there are the hangouts themselves. Off to the movies? Yes. Always. Going to a party? Eh. Well, okay, but that seriously interferes with my previous plans, which were to lie in bed watching Dexter while eating leftovers and candy. So we’ll talk. I’m not saying no! I’m just saying, we’ll talk. But I feel like I’m coming down with something. Something sinister. So you go ahead. You plan on going to that party. I’ll let you know. We’ll talk. But don’t be surprised if I can’t, because I don’t want to germ up the place. That’s just inconsiderate.