Like how I'm always told I look unapproachable and intimidating, yet every time I'm in a coffee shop with headphones in, a stack of books five high, a computer on my lap, a pen in my hand, and a journal stuck somewhere around my chair, apparently I'm irresistibly approachable. People think it's the exact right time to strike up a deep and divulgent conversation with me. I know many a stranger's dark truths and life story.
That recently happened to me with this man:
He woke up from his drunken stupor and told me his childhood memories, political views, and made me watch several videos of a sheep.
I'd like to harness that irresistableness and use it during appropriate social settings, not the ones when I'm trying to decipher criticism of Ulysses or write a presentation on disengagement and father-figure searching in The Gatekeeper.
Speaking of appropriate social settings, I was tricked into one this evening.
At newcomers dinner (take 2) on Tuesday evening, the pastor's wife casually invited me to sing with a choir-like group on sunday (tonight) because they were desperate for another alto. Made it sound super casual.
It turned into me showing up at someone's home, joining an established choir for Christmas Caroling, and discovering that Harmony was never showing up ever. Hello...strangers. Who wants to take me home tonight? To my home, that is, not your home. I don't know you like that. Or at all. Dang you, Harmony!
Luckily, I've been practicing my small talk social skills a lot in the past couple weeks and have "looking pleasant" down to a science.
First are the arms. Uncross them and place them delicately in your lap.
Next is the face. Stop staring like you've got laser beams for eyes and give yourself a nice, dreamy expression, making sure the crinkles in your forehead are smoothed. Maybe raise your eyebrows a bit to widen your eyes even more and make you look innocent and curious.
The mouth. It's pursed, isn't it. Or frowning a bit. Don't smile like an idiot, but you could stand to turn the sides up a little, so you look like you've laughed at least once before and would do so again if called upon.
Along with singing to some neighborhood folk, I heard all about some guy's reminisces about every english course he'd ever taken, the warm childhood memories of a man and his father geeking out over web design and technology together, and got myself a ride home with a very nice swedish south african girl named Sam, who also made me wear tinsel.
A battle awaited me at home. The crazy thing is that I don't even know where these attacks are coming from, like what their root is, so there's no way for me to come to plate against them really.
They knock the life out of me. Literally take me off my feet and to the floor (funny thing: that's another time I apparently am most approachable. Dang near every time I cry--which previous to this move has been seldom--somebody walks in on me or calls me).
But thank God almighty: New mercies will be ready for me in the morning.
December, day 8: complete.
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