Shyness is nice / And shyness can stop you / From doing all the things in life / You'd like to.

While I feared that it would turn out this way, I always had some hope that my quarter-century would find me in slightly better shape than I am now. Somewhat like the narrator of The Wrong Boy, I feel like it's wrong to have to resort to Morrissey lines at this age: or, being more specific, early Smiths lines seem wrong, as I'd much rather be in the "Break Up The Family" stage. As such, the entire matter is like a bad dream that just won't go away. (I'm tempted to add in more Moz here, but it's probably better if I resist.)

It's almost pointless to trace the origins of that which makes me son and heir of a criminally vulgar personality trait; it'd be instructive, sure, but I suspect that the situation now is more due to it being comfortable than anything else. I can't really explain what happened today, but with my red-letter day coming up shortly, it's especially frustrating that there's been yet another event avoided due to...what, exactly? Perceived lack of company? Ridiculous, really.

I can only hope I am given more opportunities, undeserving as I am. Resolutions seem frivolous by nature, so I won't try to formalize anything in that setting, but still: I should try to curb this excessive shyness. It's unlikely that the awkwardness during an event will be any worse than the feeling of sitting by oneself and dissecting it. Lack of company, now that's tautologically the situation I end up in when I make such choices.