plus ça change...

I'm sitting in my room listening to my housemates and others talking and laughing outside. They're having a barbecue. I really was going to go. I told a housemate I would and I bought some vegetarian sausages to try grilling. I kept thinking I would just wait a bit, until there were more people around, then go outside. I want to be sociable and have friends, and yet, here I am, hiding again.
I know that if I go out and talk to people, I'll have an okay time. The problem is that it won't change anything, so it doesn't seem worth the effort and anxiety. I'm too worried about whether people will think I'm anti-social for avoiding the party until now, or whether I'll have anything to say and too busy trying to keep people from learning anything non-superficial about me to really get to know anyone else. Obviously it's impossible to make real friends that way.

Every time my house has some kind of party, I find myself thinking I should just give up on trying to be part of the house and move out on my own.

I fantasize about starting over and eliminating the film of dragginess that hangs over me. ... it’s too late for these friends. They wouldn’t be able to see that I’m not a drag anymore. I need clean new people who associate me with fun. This is my number two problem: I am never satisfied with what I have.

(from The Man on the Stairs by Miranda July in No One Belongs Here More Than You)

Then I feel bad, because they are nice people, and if I could just stop hiding myself away, maybe we could be proper friends. It probably wouldn't be any easier with other people, anyway, although it's tempting to think that it would be if I just met the right ones.
Blog friends I've met have been uniformly easier and more fun to talk to, which I'd like to claim as evidence that it's just easier with especially cool and interesting people, but maybe it's more the fact that by the time I meet them, they already know me a lot better than anyone I meet first in real life.
I wish there were some way to skip over the risky part of opening up in real life, and only do so with people who won't mind the real me. I guess blogging works pretty well for that. It's a pity blog friends are more likely to move away or be located in inconvenient places to begin with.


Update: I just ran into a housemate while sneaking down to do laundry (if I'm going to hide, I may as well get something done). She didn't ask why I wasn't at the barbecue and just offered me some of the pie she'd baked. I had to turn away to unload the washing machine so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes. Now I feel even more horrible. I wanted to explain, but I couldn't tell the truth and any other excuse would probably be too lame to convince anyone I don't really hate them and not want to hang out with them. I suck. Seriously.