I hate this crap, not the dancing mind but somewhere, inside me, there is this doubt.

For the sake of a metaphoric description I'll call it the Anxiety virus and, like a computer virus, its running through my hard-drive looking desperately for the right files. It wants to find something to worry or feel guilty about and then use it to crash my system and slap up the blue screen of death just behind my eyeballs.

Its not a feeling I'm unfamiliar with. Unfortunately I know this only too well, but mercifully it is mild now. In the deepest part of my total wig-out at the end of 2004, this beast ruled supreme. The only way I could escape the torture of being totally consumed with angst and imagined guilt about something, was for the virus to unearth something else from the darkest corners of my mind to replace the previous issue. To continue the computer-based metaphor, I had that many pop-ups and error messages, eventually I just ground to a halt.

Like most things obsessive, it is likely to be a learnt behaviour that has become routine. A default state that part of my mind goes back to whenever I have left my immediate comfort zone and stretched my boundaries a bit more.
Its almost like I'm trying to find something to punish myself with for actually, heaven forbid, enjoying myself.

Shortstuff and I went on the lash Friday. Her friends had come around beforehand and asked me along too. Despite my feinted protestations, I had been hoping. Having lost touch with nearly every last person I ever really called a friend over the years, I wanted just to see what was out there I guess.

We went from pub to pub, I drank. We went to a club as you do, and instinct (and alcohol) just took over and I was on the dance floor in a flash. I couldn't help myself, it was music from the mid 90's, back when dance music was good and not this rehashed 80's pop-song drivel that you get lately...

And what do I feel now? I'm trying to make myself feel like a nob, thats what. Trying to tell myself I probably looked like a right twat on the dance floor. Sure, I wave my arms in the air and jig around; I probably looked like a twat when I used to go clubbing ten years ago, so now I'm pretty sure I look like an old, balding twat instead.
I don't know why I even care, I didn't at the time, I was just enjoying it. Its not like I stand there two-stepping with my arms welded to my sides like a lemon – if nothing else I should award myself points for enthusiasm! I should be objective about it, did anyone pay me any attention really? Probably not - just another person in the crowd. Besides I'm sure Shortstuff would have told me if I looked like a plank or was embarrassing her.

But thats never stopped the bit of me that doesn't seem to like me from having a good kick, and all the while the Anxiety virus is looking for something to feel guilty about.

That's what I hate about getting drunk, probably even more than any headaches the day after. Its the remorseful feeling that I might have let myself go and just gotten on with having fun; I think I'm scared that people will actually form the same opinion of me as I hold about myself should they see me without all the restraint.

Shortstuff didn't seem to mind. I think she appreciates her man keeping her company and dancing with her.

So if I put two and two together and look at the facts, why am I trying to find a reason to critique myself? I was out dancing with a fit, young girl... All things considered I should convince myself that's the bottom line and smile about it.

Still, I've stepped outside my comfort zone and now that bloody Anxiety virus is floating around at the back of my mind looking for a reason to reign me back into the tight confines of my usual existence. Oddly, though (and it was probably the calming effect of the alcohol) I didn't really feel like I was that far out of my comfort zone, it felt good if I was honest. Time was, many years ago when I'd go out nearly every weekend and get absolutely hammered and dance...

All this worry and concern just is a pointless reaction to nothing; so now I've come here, I've written it down maybe I can just let it ebb away without it gaining any credibility. Flush it down the Blog so to speak...

Twas quite a surprise to wake up the morning after on the sofa with me feet on the coffee table though. The getting home bit must have passed me by :)