I'm antisocial. Bordering on being a misanthrope. And when I say "bordering on" I mean like Bermuda borders on the Atlantic.
Meeting people? Social situations? I'm like "FUCK, this again?" And that's about exactly how enthusiastic I am about it! On the inside.
But you'd never notice. If you met me, you'd be like, "who's this genial son-of-a-bitch, with his confident handshake, amusing and informative patter, inimitable steely glint in the eye and raw sex appeal to burn?" You'd have me pegged dead-wrong, though. All those things are true things! But they only represent the truth of outside-me. The persona-man. El Facade-o.
It's not a lie, the facade. It's a true thing - the facade is it's own true thing. Don't kid yourself: how others see you is a reality of its own!
But on the inside, I'm like: what a nice person that person seems like. It's a shame I hate dealing with personal interactions and social situations of all kinds, because this person seems like just the sort of person with whom such grueling ordeals could actually be enjoyable. Not for me, though! Nope. Not a chance. Not my bag. Hate that crap.
I'm an antisocial misanthrope, but I know my limitations.
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