I’m sitting at home reading a book. Next door my stepdaughter is hosting a party. People are beginning to arrive. There is the sound of music. Voices are getting louder as they compete with the music.
As I sit here reading I find myself thinking, ”parties are so much work, not too host (through they can be a lot of work to host), but just to be at, to attend.” That’s the introvert in me talking.
This evening I am happy with my book. At least for now. We will be heading over to some friends’ house for dinner later. That could also feel like work, though not so much.