I seem to be good at a party, but I'm really not. I hate them. My rapid-fire joking and engaging others in side conversations are usually just my ways of dealing with my discomfort. Horridly boring as it sounds, I'm usually the type who prefers a meeting to a celebration. Doing some thinking about this and why it is the case. My conclusions are tentative but grim—indicators of deep-seated brokenness and dysfunction within me.
Yet as I've mentioned before, I don't assume my feelings are constant. It's better when I attend with a friend (which is different somehow from simply being among friends). Perhaps companionship is part of the key. But it's deeper than that, deep enough that I doubt I can fix it. Maybe on this side of heaven, that's just part of who I am. Hope the knot in my gut is gone by morning.