Last week was pretty excellent. Beginning of the week, we spent one evening hang/cuddle/flirting with our super rad lesbian couple friends. And then since Spooky was out of town for a few days at a conference, I managed some quality alone/cat time before going out to a bar with a friend that I hadn’t seen for some time and was able to meet new people that she knows. And upon Spooky’s triumphant return, we chatted until the wee hours with Kyrla, one of my best friends, who lived with us for a little bit back in the day.

That recounting may have bored a few of you to tears, and I don’t often sportscast my social life in a play-by-play manner, even in a general way because 1) that’s what Facebook/Twitter/Instagram/Livejournal are for 2) a lot of my posts are scheduled to be published later 3) it’s been a while that I’ve been this social.

There was a flurry of activity last summer when I was more actively dating, but after I settled into a more or less stable constellation of ongoing or potential muy caliente friends with benefits/party makeout situations, I’ve gone out far less and mostly shuffled to and from my stressful job, hanging out with Spooky, who is a delight and lives with me. He’s my husband. Whatever. I’m more obsessed than not with him, and no one’s called the cops yet.

Anyway, this recent return to being more social has underscored how isolated I’ve been and made me realize that I was getting a bit depressed from it. My friend Fluffy actually said this to me, and I argued with Fluffy because isolated, depressed people get into this loop where their emotions lie to them.

But Fluffy was actually right about this.

Acting against that instinct to just hole up and shuffle from day to day has given me a glimpse of what I had been missing.

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