As you can see by my expertly drawn (on my good ol’ Paint program) stick figures, my social life has either blown up or I have finally blown my psychological gasket. Maybe both. People actually seem to like me, for some reason.
I’ve been called what I take to be good adjectives: “sweet” and the more puzzling term “angelic”. Did I sprout a halo and wings while I was asleep? Do I have some sort of weird, neurotic charm? I do seem able to make people laugh. Anyway, I marvel at being called something GOOD, with all the wistfulness that only someone with low self esteem can muster. And I like people, well, individuals anyhow, more and more.
It feels good, and intoxicating, to be referred to in a positive way. Seriously, I could get addicted to being treated like a human. It feels nice to be part of the human race.