Inimical Gray

So, philosophy and life and all that . . . Yes, interesting. It’s an interesting phenomenon to be around a group of people: to be more specific, to be around people who gather on a regular basis, for any number of reasons. People . . . I don’t like people, really; at least, not in general situations. Even when you take specific people that I do enjoy the company of, and gather them up into one place, once the number there exceeds something like four or five, I no longer want to be there. Eight of the best friends I’ve ever had, in one place, is a horrible thought, in my opinion.
I don’t know precisely what it is, because it never seems to be the same reason twice that I hate being around people. Sure, if you broaden it to the most vague and all-encompassing of terms, then, well, I could say things like: it’s too loud, it’s too noisy, there’s too many conversations, nobody is saying anything worthwhile, I feel uncomfortable in crowds, et cetera. It has sort of given me a headache thinking about it, too.
Whatever it may be . . . I don’t like being around people, en masse; not ever, not in the past nor in the present. It could just be chalked up to introversion, but dwindling down my personality traits into handy psychological buzzwords has never been an appealing practice to me. Or, rather, I should say: for any purpose outside of passing commentary, has it been unappealing.
Take, for example, this: my twenty-first birthday just passed, the Thursday before last, and I had no party. There was a small celebration with my father, my roommate, and my oldest friend, but nothing more. I didn’t even feel compelled to tell people it was my birthday, I would rather not have made a fuss. Most people consider twenty-one to be a huge milestone event in one’s life, but . . . I didn’t really want to dwell on it. Moreover, I didn’t want to be surrounded by a crowd of people making a big deal out of it. So, now, I legally drink a sprinkling of alcohol here and there, and that’s that.
I don’t detest people, I have no deep, unbridled loathing for them, but I am not happy with a lot of people around. I thrive on my time alone, is what it comes down to, and I need to stop forgetting that. I grow unmotivated, lethargic, downcast, irate, and moody, then I remember that the last time I had a moment of solitude was a week or more ago. It’s difficult to ignore the addicting qualities of people: the entertainment, the conversation, the interaction. But, I’m a private man – maybe even too private – and I’m no social butterfly, so these things take energy from me, not give it.
I don’t particularly mind company, but . . . There’s only so much of it I can take. I’m half-tempted to keep away from everybody I know until the end of the semester, even until next Fall. It isn’t that I have a gigantic urge to get away, but I also don’t have an urge not to, and when it comes down to making that choice: I know which way I’d go.
I do enjoy the roleplaying game I run, so it’s not like I’ll stop that. I really did enjoy going to the beach-house in Nag’s Head, wherein I spent most of my time with just myself. I have no problem living with a roommate, despite never having had to share my space before, and I have no trouble getting away when I need to do so. It’s just . . . I don’t know, you know?
I’m not tired, I’m not exhausted, I’m not overworked or stressed, I’m not anxious or lonely, despondent or desperate. Ever since this year began, I haven’t felt much of anything, or when I do, it’s never for long. Life has gotten dull, I guess, and I’m in a rut, of sorts. I need . . . Excitement? Something different needs to happen to me, something new and refreshing.
“Everything is normal, nothing ever changes.”

Adios.