I joke, here and with my students and elsewhere, that I’m not the kind of person who gets invited to parties. Some days it’s a joke, and some days it hurts. Tonight is one of those nights when it hurts, and hurts bad.

I actually got invited to a party tonight. Without going into too many details, it would have been a good place to meet some new friends who shared a common interest. Unfortunately, my efforts to find someone to go with were met with failure, and even after I’d resigned myself to not going earlier this week, my efforts to give my ticket to the party to a friend resulted in said friend freaking out before I could even broach the subject. I must be one of the few people on this planet whose insecurity and nervousness comes through loud and clear even on her instant messages. I hemmed and hawed all day about going by myself, but in the end I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I made some of the necessary preparations if I was going to go — I took my second shower of the day a couple of hours ago and had my clothes picked out if I went — but as usual I overthought things, and when I found Jeff teaching Mom how to play Texas Hold ‘Em downstairs I kind of let that distract me until it became too late to go to the party.

I can give you a lot of very valid reasons why I didn’t feel comfortable going to this party. For one thing, there was going to be wine there, and I just do not get along with people who get drunk. The neighbourhood where the party is being held is also not exactly a neighbourhood I felt comfortable walking in, and I would have had to walk a long distance between the party and the closest spot I could park my car at. (I must say that the neighbourhood isn’t all that bad; a combination of being a child of the ‘burbs and going to that private school for so long has really warped my perceptions.) I wouldn’t have known that many of the people there, and because this was the first party of its kind held at this place, I didn’t know if things could arise later with drugs or the police coming because we were making too much noise or anything like that. All of these were red flags that signaled to me that I shouldn’t go, and taken all together, I think it made sense for me not to go.

That being said, I can’t help but feel that what really happened here was that I chickened out. Unless we’re talking about quilting parties or Scrabble parties or things like that, the alcohol and the drugs and all of that are always going to be concerns. Granted, the fact that there wasn’t a previous "baseline" party to judge things off of was a cause for concern — I know people who went to the party and I can always ask them how things went later — but it wasn’t like I would have been forced to stay there all night if I started getting uncomfortable. Then again, tomorrow being a holiday and all, I would assume that the risk of drunk drivers being out there tonight is greater than it would be on a normal night. There are times when my compulsion to think things through to the nth degree results in some keen insights, but this is one instance where I think it’s just caused me to become even more neurotic than I usually am.

I have things I can do at the house tonight. I’m finally finding the time to read and write that has eluded me so well since Dad died, and although progress in those areas is slow, it’s coming. I also need to move some bookshelves around here and make some space for my growing collections of books and video games and DVDs. I have the feeling, though, that all night tonight I won’t be able to help but think about what I might be doing if I was at that party.