Tales of the Teenage eye

The Party.

Hot bodies sat in chairs in the small room with a table in the corner covered in bowls of different foods. Jaffa cakes, cocktail sausages, Pringles. You name it and it was probably on that table. I didn't really know where to go or what to do at first. When I arrived, there were only two people there that I speak to but even then, I didn't talk to them all that much. I sat down in the chair closest to the corner of the room. Is it just me or do corners just give you that sense of security in a place where anxiety lingers in every breath and drop of sweat?

I always look around, be nosy at who is at the party figure out who I can talk to where I can stand without being in the way or noticeable. It's very hard because there's that rotten stench of alcohol leaking out of every person. Everyone you think you know is now a different person and you the only person that doesn't consume such vile things, just has to sit back and watch as all your cherished friends make silly choices and make mistakes. Okay, some of it is quite funny to watch but then you can't help but feel responsible especially when it is a friend closest to you. I'm quite the mother at these parties. I would like to have fun with my friends although my awkwardness is a barrier there. Not only that but it's hard to have fun with your friends if they will only remember their mistakes and not the fun the next morning. You sort of just think "why did I try? Was it only fun for me?" but actually it was probably a blast for all of you but they will simply never remember because they were not totally themselves.

Negative over powers the positive when under the influence of alcohol. There is no changing that, you could be the best person someone's ever met but the minute they text an ex-partner. You and your fun are done for. I don't like drinking alcohol so I don't understand the fun of it. Anyone want to explain to me how getting pissed out of your own body by a fluid that doesn't even taste good, is fun? I really don't understand it. But just you wait, losing your friends to the alcohol isn't even the icing on the cake, in fact that cake hasn't even been cooked yet. There is always that one friend, crying sniffling in the bathroom holding up the queue that could easily flood the whole building with the sound of one little droplet (probably , ironically, the tear hitting the basin.)