The Truth Is A Strange Concoction

The last few nights, I’ve attended dinner parties. I love dinner and I hate parties, for those keeping score at home.

These dinners have been related to work; we have a large visiting contingent this week. I have bravely (I think) attempted small talk on each occasion. Since everyone in attendance is some sort of mathematician, it has made for some rather interesting attempts at interpersonal communication.

By “interesting” here, I mean “feeble”.

Alcohol exists to help people overcome such limitations – or perhaps to overcome awareness of such limitations – and has been consumed at each of these events copiously. I don’t drink for health related reasons, so I’m sort of an outsider looking in much of the time. I do, however, enjoy seeing people enjoy themselves, and I genuinely like most of my coworkers.

Nevertheless, group dynamics overwhelm me; I prefer people one at a time. So, I go, I listen, I watch, I talk, I leave.

Oh, yes, and I eat.

The Beautiful One got home a little after I did last night, having had an exhausting day. She had brought home her dinner, which gave us 30 minutes to sit down together – a rarity these last few weeks, what with new babies in the family and all.

Her day had been rather nightmarish. Mine had been relatively benign.

We sat talking, feeling in turn some of what the day had felt like for the other, and things came into a sort of focus.

The truth is a strange concoction because reality consists of what we have all put there. My real life is better than I could have ever hoped for. Dashes of this and that from hundreds, even thousands, of people every day that make my worldscape, or yours — these are our truths, our realities.

Jobs, coworkers, friends, family, babies, dinners, photos, text messages, stories, laughter, dance moves, stairways, highways — sometimes days and nights pass in a blur, and end thoughtlessly. Other nights, thoughts weigh us down, like having eaten too many donuts.

What do you mean, you’ve never done that?

I rose early this morning, determined to become more worthy of the life I’ve been gifted. Notice I say “more worthy” not “worthy”.

I also woke up dreading another dinner party tonight.

Would any of you be willing to go and pretend to be me?

 

 

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “The Truth Is A Strange Concoction”

  1. Nope! You’ve got to slay your own dragons. But remember: ” My real life is better than I could have ever hoped for.
    and-I rose early this morning, determined to become more worthy of the life I’ve been gifted. Notice I say “more worthy” not “worthy”.”
    Enjoy those people and don’t eat too much.
    h

    Liked by 1 person

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