Being Busy, Fitting In

Weekends are quite often busy these days, and with things that are very different to life before.

("Before" is now a loaded word, as increasingly my life appears split into two.)

This weekend had its fair share of such activities. Firstly, on Friday night, was swimming. When I first went I was a little apprehensive, as the last time I was in water deep enough to swim in was when I was eleven and failing to get my badge for swimming a length. However, although I am still not a swimmer, I can get from place to place in a pool without drowning - always a useful skill. And it's an activity which is simultaneously relaxing and tiring, which is a good thing for someone inclined to think too much.

Then, on Saturday, was not one but two birthday parties. The first was not too scary, being at a centre for people with learning difficulties. I've been to those a couple of times before, and they're quite endearing. The second, a mass surprise party for someone's sixtieth, was a little more daunting.

Oddly, though, in spite of having to slot in among more than a hundred people in a crowded set of rooms in a bar, and having to fight above loud music to have even simple conversations with people I didn't know, it didn't seem too strange. When I thought to myself "what am I doing here?", what most surprised me was how long it had taken for such a thought to come. It was a long way into the evening, and was prompted by seeing a grey-haired man with missing teeth, a pierced nipple and more tattoos than I could count, dancing with his shirt off. And that's OK, too. I answered my own question with the thought that I was helping to make an occasion, and actually enjoying myself at the same time. Not every experience needs to be just like others before it.

In actual fact, it was another milestone in feeling just a part of society, rather than an odd-shaped piece in the wrong jigsaw. Among so many people there was obviously quite a variety, some who looked very dressed-up, some who looked like they'd normally be shouting at the football in a pub, and some (most noticeable by their discreet appearance) who looked roughly like I felt - as though their usual pleasures were less social ones, but this made a change. We're all different.

Then Sunday brought a trip out into the country to meet friends. And it hadn't occurred to me until today that anything about that was at all unusual on a Sunday - which shows how far I've come in six months, especially as I spotted several minibusfuls of brethren on the way back. Sundays mean lie-ins and walks, these days.