Flow Of Energy

I love going out and doing things. It wasn't always so that I either felt that way or had the opportunity. I mostly have had only a few friends, and if they weren't up for something, it was another weekend spent at home with tv, books and the computer. Over time, though, I've become more sociable, my circle of friends has gotten larger, and I've consequently had more opportunities to go out and do things. It remains a thing of curiosity to me. Specifically, I take an interest in the progression of energy- what one might more properly call the emotional arc- I feel which surrounds the event.

It starts with anticipation. I would hardly be the first to observe that this is the most consistently satisfying part of the experience. I'd say that the longer you have before it has to be spoiled, the better. Whether it's a date, a platonic encounter or a party, it always achieves perfection in the mind beforehand. This is true at least if you want to do the thing. Sometimes it does live up to the imagination, and even exceeds it, but usually the most you can hope for is that it comes close.

I usually find the act itself to be great. This, if for no other reason, is that the event leaves no time for reflection or contemplation in the moment. I'm talking, eating and drinking the whole time. I notice things and make observations about how things are going, but they get filed away without analysis. In the midst of a generally delightful evening, I will still likely have an awkward exchange or some other unhappy experience. That gets recorded, but I'll be on to the next thing before that hits home in my mind.

Sooner or later, the good times end. It begins as the party is slowing down, because I am seldom among the first to leave. I'd rather die than be the last, but I tend to be one of the last. At that time, more and more thoughts begin creeping in. It's full-on introspection the moment I'm alone. Whether I'm walking home, catching public transportion or getting dropped off, the last words of conversation inaugurate hours of self-flagellating hyper-critical self-analysis. The fun parts fade away for a spell, and I perseverate over the awkward and the embarrassing parts. Once the pain of that is through, though, I return to appreciating the enjoyable parts, and the cycle is complete until the next time.