Last night, propped up, sleep deprived and feeling a little out of my element, I was about to bow out early from a party with my fellow writers here in the dorm. It was fun, and I enjoyed chatting with individuals throughout the evening. Truth be told however, I'm a little shy in certain situations. Yeah, you read that right. (Give me a break, all you knuckleheads who know me!) Literary conversations with smart, well-read people slam home the fact that I should have spent less time watching Gilligan's Island re-runs or riding my bike or whacking fuzzy yellow balls or careening down mountainsides and more time as a thoughtful grown up with my schnoz poked into the pages of the classics. I was poised to muster a graceful exit, to rise from my seat and bid everyone goodnight, when someone told a joke. A joke. They might as well have started passing around the coke tray. All the world's a stage for a joke junkie. I stayed, of course. And all that stuff about being shy? Never mind.
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