I've already mentioned that I hadn't wanted to go out Saturday night. I've already mentioned that I'd tried to go somewhere Saturday afternoon, and failed.
That's just the tip of the iceberg, as they say.
No less than five times, on Saturday - starting at about 10:00 and ending at about 1:00 - I tried to go out. The first several times I only got as far as my kitchen. I'd put my jacket on, and I'd pick up my keys, and then I'd just stand there.
After a while, I'd take my jacket off and go back to my office or to my basement or to my living room.
Eventually, I did leave my house. I got about halfway to Louisville, then I turned around and came back home.
I was in such a strange mood. I was very much aware of the futility of pretending to be a part of a world that I just didn't belong to. Not on Saturday. On Saturday night, if it hadn't been for the admittedly slim chances of (a) seeing HatGirl, and (b) being normal for a while, I would not have left my couch.
But that was Saturday.
By Sunday morning, I was more or less back to normal. Normal, as always, is a relative term. I mean normal for me.
For the most part. I thought so, anyway.
Except that I put my jacket on about ten times, and for eight of the first nine of those times I ended up just standing in my kitchen for a while before taking my jacket back off. One time I made it to the end of my driveway before I threw my truck into reverse and pulled back into my garage.
The tenth time I went and bought some groceries, which had been my plan all along.
This isn't really social anxiety, I don't think. When I'm standing in my kitchen, I'm not nervous or anxious about leaving my house.
I just don't see the point. There's nothing out there.
So I guess my strange mood hasn't left me completely.