Concentrated Milk

This is the sort of thing best never said in the light of day, but, well, I'm sick of having friends. The necessity of interpersonal relations isn't lost on me; it's a grave task to maintain balance or sanity without peers. I've spent months holed up in my house in the past, and I can give detailed testament to how much it sucks and how much it sucks out of me. But all the motions necessary to keep friendships in the green honestly feel like they provide poor return on investment.

See, when presented with the choice of either having fun alone or having the same amount of fun with others, I'd choose the solitary option a solid ninety percent of the time. You have to manage people, make sure you're not going past their boundaries, and think about their happiness. I have enough trouble doing that for myself. I just got back from a night playing cards with a friend, and afterward I had no desire to ever see his ass again. This isn't an uncommon occurrence with any friend of mine, and it really has me questioning my approach. I usually try to soften the blow by calling myself antisocial, but really, I'm a misanthrope, and the mind of a misanthrope isn't hungry for company.

This is too high-school-notebook for what I want this blog to be, but a record of my self needs to include some nerd clichés if it's going to be honest. I want to expand on this idea, make it into a train of thought rather than a bus of sentence fragments, but it may be too unformed for me to grasp fully yet.