Socialising is no superhero skill of mine; it never was. Sometimes I do it rather fine, that means I laugh at the right moment and say yes or no adequate to the conversation; but today I felt that if I have to participate only one more minute longer in the breakfast discussion about the appropriate use of vaginal lubricants, the remaining five brain neurons of mine that survived both the depression and the workplace breakfasts of the last six months, will commit suicide together and I will end up in our own dementia ward very soon. I don’t really want to maintain long conversations about astrophysics*, postmodern literature*** or early Italian Baroque continuo rules****, but I got already somewhat tired of the topic of the detailed love life of my coworkers. Despise me if you dare.
* mostly because I have about zero knowledge of astrophysics**
** well, I read A Brief History of Time a few years ago but that’s really all I did for my better understanding of the Universe
*** there definitely were times when my readings couldn’t have been defined with the sole word: mysteries; but – alas! – those times are passed
**** I have a lot to say about early Italian Baroque continuo rules but I am also able to go quite happily without pushing the subject