I used to have parties. It's a great excuse.
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The reason I'm thinking about the parties is my oldest and dearest - we used to collaborate on throwing them. There was one that he heard people swearing they attended that he barely knew existed - that one became legendary in LA area SF fandom. It was, indeed a great party.
The reason I'm thinking about my oldest and dearest is that he celebrated quite loudly on Facebook when my birthday present to him arrived a couple days ago: the JRR Tolkien translation of Beowulf that was published the day before his birthday.
He is currently posting about Anglo-Saxon jewelry. Pretty interesting stuff for somebody who still wants to be an archaeologist when she grows up.
I might actually enjoy having another party, but the word "debacle" comes to mind when I think of my last attempt. I invited around 35 people, 20 said they would come - 5 showed up.
I always have plenty of food and drink, so it's not that. I think it's that I don't rate very high on anybody's urgent list. People like having me around, but they won't go out of their way.
The reason I stopped doing the parties in Los Angeles with my friend is that everybody who showed up seemed to feel their social duty to me was done if they asked when the next one was as they were leaving. And I don't really have enough room for a party where I'm living now.
Actually, I think I will feel more optimistic about things when my elbow stops hurting. It's been more than a week since I skinned it, and it's healing well, but the part that's still scabby hurts every time I have to move my arm. The people I know who live with chronic pain are among the most cheerful on a day-to-day basis that I know. I think it must be because being grumpy just makes it feel worse - that certainly seems to be my problem right now.