To be human is not in fashion these days.  Successful people like to think of themselves as an extension of their digital hardware, that they are the software like the <em>Wizard of Oz</em> was behind the curtain, playing God. There we are alone in the darkness on a constant drip feed of information either giving it or getting it. Nothing functions unless our fingers are clicking away giving our Facebook or Twitter followers a snippet of our lives or de-friending those we oppose. We're so pumped on this digital Viagra we feel if we go off line for a split nanosecond, the world will grind to a halt. The whole planet is waiting for us to answer the next email and so we spend our lives returning them only to get another one and another one like those horror films where the plants won't stop growing or the zombies won't stop coming. We made machines faster and faster with bytes beyond our dreams so we'd have spare time. Now we spend our lives keeping up with the machines. We wouldn't know what 'spare' was if it hit us in the head. It's as ridiculous as saying you need spare time as saying you need spare oxygen.  

And the less spare time you have the higher your social rating. Very few people will answer the question, "Are you busy?" With, "No." It would take a very brave person to admit they have an open slot in their calendar. Busy people would move away as if you had an infectious disease, faster than if you had Ebola. In this culture you're supposed to say, "Am I busy, are you kidding? I'm so busy I've had three heart attacks and I'm life support." Just watch how successful and popular you'll get if you have no time for anything or anyone.  

It's obvious our next step in evolution is that we become a cyborg where gradually our flesh will be replaced by silicon chips and steel pincers for fingers but hundreds of them to do all the multi-tasking we'll be forced to do. Then we'll be perfect, no physical or mental flaws, only a shiny silver carcass that says, 'Apple' where our hearts used to be. 

But for now we're just in the early stages of foreplay with our machines, we haven't been penetrated by them yet. We used to think of people who were alone talking to themselves insane, now it's a sign you're so important because people need you even when you're just walking. They need you because you are the source of all knowledge, a walking Wikipedia. 

Ok, so that's what not being human is  - which is sadly the predicament we're in today. To be human is to be able to say, "I screwed up. I don't know what I'm doing. I am scared. I'm lost." We are not made to know everything and do everything; to work a hundred hours a day, have 14 children, run a house, have a dog, know how to make a cupcake and jog at four in the morning.  These people are held up as role models; they should be burnt at the stake. We should admire people who can just stay in bed. We should say, "Wow, this guy can afford spare time, let's give him a knighthood." In truth when we meet someone who seems perfect, secretly we can't wait for their demise. If someone is flawed I know I am immediately drawn to him knowing he's like me underneath. Animals know what they're doing, they migrate thousands of miles to lay an egg and then come back again for some more random sex the same distance; no one complains. We, who don't have to swim, fly or canter a thousand miles, are dropping from exhaustion for no other reason than keeping up with the next guy who's keeping up with the next guy who's heading toward a full nervous breakdown and then nobody speaks to him again because he showed a flaw.  To be human is to stand up and claim your weakness. If you do that others around you will feel compassion and empathy, (little used features) and that's how the world will recover from its inhuman diseases of greed and narcissism - where a human being these days can actually believe he deserves over a £million in bonuses which defines the Frankensteins so many have turned into.here to edit.

In Edinburgh, not having a depression, no, this is a feeling and when you have a feeling you don't have depression. With depression you feel nothing, dead, frozen inhuman. There is no reason for this sadness; I'm doing my show, it's full, I don't forget my lines so all's good on that front. One of my adages is that it's not worth mentally hunting around for why you're sad; your body gives you information, your mind scrambles for an explanation, usually wrong because we've only got few thousands words and over 50,000 feelings. It's like translating Spanish and you only have the word "Tapas."

What happened to me is not the reason for my mood but I'm sure it contributed. My first night here I was invited to a dinner mainly for scientists who are up here doing a radio show. I'm placed next to Brain Cox and something inside me wilts because I know I am sitting next to a superior being and he will soon find out I'm a two-celled worm. I am next to someone who knows what happened to make the big bang, he sees atoms and electrons and even knows what they are. He doesn't think about things that I, a mere mortal does, like whether or not there is food on my teeth, and death. To me he is greater than any rock star squared.

You could say this is my imagination - and I know it is - but it's all I've got. This is my trigger, if I'm near someone that smart, I tailspin into the interior pre-recorded CD made in childhood that goes something like this, "You're a total idiot and people will find out that you're an idiot." (It's repeated many times). It was an early recording from around the time I came in last in my class in finger painting at nursery school. I also did not get into the swing of potty training till way after the time it was considered chic.

So there I was, hair-raised because the guy sitting next to me is (I have not gone on spell check which I usually have to every two words) a motecular genicist, astro physist, evolutionary something particale physisit, neruimmunionpiginy, quantum electrocardiologist with some string thrown in, he's beautiful and looks ten years old. At first I try to pull out something from the empty space called my brain; I give it my best shot. I say, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, "If there are infinite parallel universes meaning there are zillions of me's, how am I able to put food in my mouth with one fork?" He actually didn't look at me as if I was a dead bug I think he may have thought I knew something he didn't so he responded with something about fractals and particles, that I can exist here but also there. I laughed and said of course I know that and then began to sing show tunes from "Annie Get Your Gun" because Robin Ince, another genius on the other side of me, told me Brian liked those songs. I could tell Brian was confused but amused and then his wife phoned and among other things said she was thrilled I was next to her husband and told him to take a selfie. We pose for the photo and I don't want his head to touch mine in case I pass my idiocy into his.

Thank God I happened to have one of those small blow up Pilates balls in my bag so I put it to my mouth and blew it up for the shot. Brian held up a candle representing the sun or Lady Macbeth, I'm not sure. Anyway after the ice breaker we were fine. He told me about how nothing much happened on the earth for 3.7 billion years and then about 600,000 years ago when there was finally enough oxygen, a cell filled with mitochondria (I nodded as if I knew) from some piece of fungi started to breath in oxygen while another cell breathed out methane (I'm sure I got that wrong) and so complexity began and then he went all the way up to how us was formed. I had no cards to play because I knew I was that cell breathing oxygen but not much more.

I do have some features; I'm a good listener and can be extremely funny when I'm not nervous. So now he's included some older guy across from us in into the conversation about some LE173 gene that they found which determined how far that complex cell would migrate from central Africa to Egypt and the guy says how many of these LE438's could get that far? He asks me what I do and out of my mouth before I can pull the brakes out comes, "Model/actress". He laughs, I don't know why, and I'm thinking this guy is a mortal like me just listening to the Master speak but then Brain or Brian tells me this is the world's leading cosmologist. I shrivel. Carlos Frenk (look him up on You Tube, I did and almost choked to death). I didn't even understand his opening line, then holding up a squiggle on a piece of paper he told us in the language of math (which I do not speak) to take fluctuating space and multiply it by time. That was later, when I go home - but now, in the restaurant, he tells me that he was on a plane and was asked what he did, he said cosmologist and the person said, "Do you think I need a face lift?" I didn't think that was funny because that's what I would have asked. Then it gets worse he asks me where I think he comes from. I'm sweating. I say Hungary, no Brazil, to help me he tells me it's 29th latitude and 36 longitude so then I give up saying, "Ok you must be Mexican" and yes, that's what he is. Bingo. I then start to show off asking what town and I reel off Spanish names some of them are in Argentina but by now he thinks I'm funny so I'm riding high on my stupidity. At the end of the night I think I got a D for effort. I went home and, as I said, Youtubed Carlos Frenk all night until the electricity ran out and I woke up knowing nothing, nothing. This re-telling of my evening is not about wanting your pity; this is just a sharing of the inner landscape of my mind or whatever's in there. Thanks.

I'm in Edinburgh with my Sane New World Tour this week and I'll be touring the UK this Autumn. You can find full details here.

I feel under siege, everything feels like an emergency from the fear we're on the cusp of a World War to the fact I missed my dentist appointment and he's going to charge me for it. Why am I so strung out?

I'm sure in the past I wasn't this panicked. Back then when kids played in the yard, dad came home, put on his slippers while Spot the dog brought him the papers and Mom was cooking up a meatloaf that couldn't be beat. Maybe back then we were all in our right minds. But now there's no time to stop and smell the meatloaf - the busy-ness is too busy, frazzling us all.

These days if mom is making a meatloaf, she's furious because she just got back from the office after working 12 hours straight plugged into her computer, a slave to her inbox. The more she answers, the more they breed into the thousands and now she has to cook a meatloaf? There is no rest. Where the hell is her husband? Why can't he do it? After dinner she reads that the meatloaf will eventually clog your veins with fat and kill you. On top of this new scare story she is already worrying that the kids are on ketamine or cutting themselves because of the pressure of getting into Oxford by the time they're 13. In this world our innocent little brains are never at rest from wave after wave of shock and horror. If you sit down at the TV what will you see? I'm not talking about some vampire death orgy TV show where everyone's necks get sucked out by the first ad break. That's a great show and really no different from old West shootouts we used to watch as kids.

I'm talking about the news. If God forbid you accidentally hit a news channel, you will be invited to see, in close up, not just a report there's been a plane crash but the camera goes right into the homes, up the stairs, into the bathrooms of the victims' relatives for a close up as they cry into the lens and plead to their dead loved ones. It seems to have become really important that we don't just hear about a disaster, we have to be close enough to smell it. Now the camera has to film the corpses then pan up into a close up of a wailing mother.

Finally, we snap back to the newscaster with smiling teeth on top of an exposed cleavage the length of the Nile giving us "What a tragedy, the victims suffered ninth degree burns and some limbs were found 3,000 miles away from the wreckage. A dog was heard barking and that's the news for tonight, see you tomorrow morning where we'll chose the final entrée for pie of the week." You are left shaken and mortified from seeing all the suffering and your little brain registers that pain as if it happened to your own children.

We all have mirror neurons that pick up other people's suffering, this is why everyone cries at the same time in a cinema. If you don't believe me, just try sitting in front of the screen of Toy Story turn around and watch what the audience does when the girl cowboy sings. Wonderfully, frustratingly, terrifyingly, we're all in this together. The madness will continue until we realise we have to stop looking, turn off the TV, burn the newspapers when there's some hope, privacy and only watch things we can do something about rather than sit helpless watching the disasters unfold.

I'm on tour again this autumn with Sane New World - my guide to keeping sane in a busy world. You can also catch me in Edinburgh at the Assembly Rooms 1 - 7 August. Full details are over here.

One thing I really will never recover from is the realization that I am an adult as in a grown up person. I never thought this would happen. I only realized when one day I was called 'ma'am' instead of 'miss'.

When exactly did this 'ma'am' transformation happen, what was the giveaway? Getting old is something that happens to other people, not me. I know at one point I saw visible evidence of aging (dark circles) around the eye area and almost immediately had them hoiked. Wrinkles can be de-wrinkled in minutes thanks to the miracle of dermatology and so as far as my constant battle with aging I believe I am winning, on the outside anyway, I can't speak for my insides. Several hundred birthdays ago I was slightly drunk during my speech and asked all my 'then' friends "What happened to all of you? You look so old have I been in a coma?" Some of them are no longer speaking to me. I then fell forward into my chocolate cake and had to be lifted out by the hair.

Clearly I'm in complete denial. Recently a woman told me she had three adult children and I responded with incredulous disbelief, "You have three kids?" It was my girlfriend who pointed out, so did I. It seems other people know how to act like thing called a grown up. Having coffee mornings where they don't digress from the topic of 'the children.' I know women in their 40s still blathering about how long their delivery took. Get over it! Exchanging phone numbers for kids party entertainers who in the spirit of wackiness pull live rabbits out of their pants. My idea of hell are those cocktail parties my parents used to have where you stand holding a drink and make small talk about absolutely nothing. I never know how or when you're supposed to end one conversation and then move on and start again. I wish we could be as honest as when we were kids and just blurt, "I want to go home I don't like you."

Dress-wise I go for the 14-16 year old range. I borrowed my daughter's thong - I can no longer find it. I'm going to need miners to go in there and dig it out. My look is Nikes and skinny jeans even though my stomach hangs over the top like a tutu made of flesh. My behind is on permanent display but at least I don't have to look at it. If I'm this deluded now imagine when I really hit the skids, I'll be the one wearing my incontinence pads at a jaunty angle and body surfing on my Zimmer frame. Wish me luck.

I'm on the road again this Autumn, and in Edinburgh this summer. You can find details here!

I don't know when it started but I've recently noticed when I'm talking to someone they don't ask me one question, not one. I don't even want to talk about me but for God's sake I'm sitting in front of them aren't they embarrassed that they're taking up all the airtime? I exist, I am not just a mirror to reflect them back to themselves nor part of some sound-check. I find I'm suddenly cast in the role of 'interviewer' filling in the blank spaces when they're done with their answer and expecting the next question. Do I look like I'm interested in the fact their kid can't figure out what he wants to do for a living at age eight or that the builders put the sink in upside down?

I want to hold up a sign that says, "Gaza Strip, you idiot, get real." When did everyone lose his or her curiosity? I count how many times they use the word 'me' and if it's ten out of ten, I delete them from my contacts list. The only time I don't mind a monologue is either when someone's being hilarious or when someone needs to talk about something deeply problematic even if I never met them before. I got in a random taxi a few days ago and the driver asked me to sign a book. I thought it was his. It turned out to be my book (I'd never seen it without the jacket). He then tells me it's good I got in his cab (like that was planned) because he always wanted to talk to me. For the next hour he unloaded how he felt, his mind in a thick fog accompanied by screaming abusive voices in his head and what did I think was wrong with him? He then got lost and was driving in circles (luckily he turned off the meter). I asked him if he's was on medication, he told me he wanted to try and get better without them. I said that he had severe depression, it's not his imagination he is really ill with something he can't wilfully snap out of. His attitude to drugs was like finding out he has cancer and he's passing on the chemo. Now, I call that a great conversation; it was real and had a point. I hope I helped, I know I woke him up from his delusion.

On the other end of the spectrum, I had a dinner party last week where I invited a few famous people I knew from when I did my interview shows. Many of them suffer from something I call 'movie star disease.' They live in their own time zone so when invited to dinner at seven they either come in at eleven with no apology or not at all. When they do finally arrive it's expected that non-famous people shut up mid sentence to give full attention and look enthralled. On the hierarchy of famous (though I worked in television and may be considered famous by some) I am protoplasm. In these relationships it's implicit that I am the interviewer and I know that's the deal so no surprises. I'm ashamed to admit that probably like other 'non-fames' when faced with an A-lister, I slightly go into that nervous, heart pumping arousal, turning myself inside out to amuse. I'm sure it's a throw back to when I was a looser in High School and when the Prom Queen deemed to look at me I'd start metaphorically tap dancing until exhausted to get her approval, I never did. One of the great pleasures in my life is now knowing that the Prom Queen is ensconced in re-hab. I think I'm happier with taxi drivers.

Every morning I drag myself from sleep (it's so hard especially when I've been starring in my own dream and I've been a hit) to sitting up on my pillow to do 20 minutes of mindfulness.

Every morning I think why am I doing this because when I look in at my thoughts it's never a pretty sight?

In the beginning of the sitting, I usually hunt around for something that pisses me off because I'm addicted to anger and it feels so familiar when I get that wild, fire in my veins.

This morning I found my victim in the first few moments to stoke my fury.

Some friend of a friend came to my house a few nights ago and spilled wine all over my carpet.

Not a tiny splatter, she swamped it, covering a three foot area.

How you do that, I do not know? I start to fuel up with that old well-known feeling; rage.

As I sit there, every cell of my body is itching to reach for the computer to write a vitriolic email informing her she has to pay for the stain removal or I will either sue or kill her.

I try to focus on my breath but I'm so stuck in my habit, my mind drags me back to the girl and the stain and my need to eliminate her.

Just as I think it's over I find myself reaching for the phone to scream and rant at her.

I pull my focus back to the sensation of breathing.

Eventually I feel the anger subside and my need to murder pass, not completely, it fluctuates in intensity, it comes and goes, sometimes harsh then light, then gone.

Now I have a choice, I can either fuel it some more or let it go.

It's usually at this point, I get angry with myself for having these impulses so I now I get caught in the thoughts of how bad I am as a person and at doing mindfulness.

The thing that eventually makes me stay there for 20 minutes of war going on in my head is knowing even if I can't remove the thoughts of stains in my head then the very act of noticing is good enough.

The point isn't to try and clear my mind or to forgive the stain-maker but to just notice I'm stuck and usually when you notice you become unstuck.

I've been thinking how little we know about ourselves no matter how much has been coughed out to shrinks. Surely to understand our inner inconsistencies there must be some other influences outside our paltry life stories which some of us repeat on an endless loop tape to get to the nub of who we are.

My opinion is we need to take into consideration the influence of our ancient roots, our prehistoric past.

Like it or not, we all started as tiny one-celled protoplasm. We should look further back than our time as Homo Sapiens to understand who we are today. It wasn't all that long ago when we even began; only for the last 200,000 years have we been modern humans (hairless), before that fish, lizards and a various assortment of apes. (Not the most sophisticated of lineages.) Most of us are hopelessly unaware of the extent to which we're held hostage by our moronic beginnings.

In some ways we've come a long way i.e. standing up in high heels but as far as our emotional development we're still swimming in the pond scum. The problem is that we're unaware that part of our brains still play by the rules of 400 million years ago. I'm talking about the 'kill and mate' school of thought. As evolved as we think we are, we're still cave folk with Stone Age brains trying to deal with the complexities of the 21st century. This could be the answer to why we need so many shrinks and medication.

In the beginning things were fine, we lived in tribes with family members. We all shared the same genes so we trusted and protected each other. The bad news about this is the bit about all being related which caused infinite mutations; some of our cousins had more fingers than needed, others had their feet growing backwards. These were the days of hunter-gatherer, which lasted for many thousands of years. The men did the dirty work spearing dinner, the woman peeled roots and bulbs (before women's lib.). No one complained, mainly because they couldn't speak; language was not invented yet. The problems began when the tribes started to expand, cities grew up and civilisation developed. Now we had to make rules to control our deeper, darker desires, i.e. don't sleep with your sister. Freud tried to help us reign in our 'ids' but our baser, primordial selves are still sliming around under the surface. Repression doesn't help; that Alien inside is always lurking ready to let it rip. These days we convince ourselves we're fighting for justice to defend our beliefs. In my brutal opinion, we're simply appeasing our basic urge to kill; as in, tear the throat out of the foe, irrelevant of race, religion or political affinity. Every cell in our bodies wants to divide and conquer, why should our yearning to overthrow other countries be different?

To evolve any further we need to become conscious of these 'ancient whispers.' Underneath our mild mannered exteriors are our barbaric brothers of the past. If you act unaware of your Dark Force it will act out without you being conscious and throw grenades where you think you've done good. So when you feel the urge to tear off someone's head that got the job you always wanted, remember that we all have a savage within that seeks revenge. I even go as far as giving a little compassion to the beast within because I wouldn't have survived without him. So in essence, it took us four billion years to evolve to where we are and though we're cognitively brilliant we're still a little emotionally dwarfed, the question is could our more empathetic side catch up?

I say the first step is learning to hug your inner ape. (Perhaps the name of a new book? Maybe not).

Most mornings I try to drag myself into a sitting position to practice mindfulness. I do this because if I delay and say to myself, "Later," I'll never do it. My body craves to stay prone, probably forever. But sitting up and following my breath, I can check my internal weather conditions and if I don't check in, they'll unconsciously influence everything I do in the day. It's like clearing out the attic. Once I'm sitting, the madness begins. The thoughts of why I might be anxious whirl around my brain like a hurricane; fast and furious. They're jumping to make sense of my feelings, to find some explanations like, "I didn't get invited to..." "My so called friend didn't call me back." "I didn't feed the cat." "We're all going to die." There is no priority; just endless rumination to label the feeling of fear and dread. What makes it worth sitting there is that eventually my thoughts settle down and I can start to sense the raw emotion. Once I go below the thoughts I can connect with the raw feelings. The understanding that feelings are just feelings and thoughts are just thoughts and both could be the result of anything. I may never be aware of why, so to try to think my way out is a waste of time and energy because if I focus on exactly where this feeling is in my body it eventually shifts, disperses or transforms. This sense of everything coming and going, is totally liberating and makes the whole ordeal worth doing.

Even though it seems so simple, it's hard because you have to repeat this going from the thought to the feeling over and over again and it's the repetition that builds the strength to go under the words for safety when they're particularly abusive, (they are in my case). Each time I'm aware my mind has snared me, I take the focus back to the feeling; sensing the edges, the size and even the weight. It's incredible how desperate the mind is to come up with a story line. In the end there are no explanations and we'll never be conscious of why we have them. My feelings of discomfort could be a result of having indigestion because I binged on chocolate at midnight or because of a memory or a dream. This morning I probably feel extremely anxious because of my dream last night. But rather than go over and over it with a shrink (sorry Freud) I just try to sit with the feeling because really if this is why I feel the way I do how could it possibly be of any benefit? Here's the dream for your amusement:

I've parked my car in a no parking area. My car has been completely dismantled, only the chassis is left. The guy who tore it apart tells me he'll put it together again if I pay $5,000. I refuse so he takes me to his leader who happens to be a seriously dangerous gang leader. I try to make him laugh (my only weapon) which I do by showing him how I can turn his photos of naked women into key chains. (I know it's not funny or does it make sense). He laughs as I walk away thinking, "Sucker, I got him, I won't have to pay the $5,000." As I'm leaving a group of Vietnamese boy/soldiers march by and one of the lackey's of the leader says I better pay the $5,000 or this will happen to me. He then takes out a lance and makes a small slice into one of the soldier's throat. At first it's just a gash but then his head rolls off and blood spurts out. I start to think maybe I should take this seriously and get the money so I jump into a white stretch limo with no roof and demand the driver take me to every cash point in town. It dawns on me as fear creeps into every cell that my charms didn't work and my whole family will be wiped out. I go from cash point to cash point collecting money and then decide I'll pay him back in avocados. Ok jump cut, I'm working around the clock with Chinese workers wrapping up thousands of avocados. Do you now see why I might have woken up feeling anxious?

I could have carried those sensations around with me all day reacting unconsciously reacting to everything with fear and dread. Instead I figure they're just feelings, it's probably just a result of my dream or even if it isn't let it go. I feel clearer and slightly amused by my nocturnal rantings and get on with the day.

Here are the answers to the latest #AskRuby in full.  You can send me questions to answer on twitter by tweeting @RubyWax and using #AskRuby

1. @McArevey We have/have had countless diet shows & Embarrassing Bodies clinics on TV. Where are the programmes looking at mental health?

@Rubywax It’s all about what’s in fashion and viewing figures. Obviously body mutations and over ‘cellulited’ people (want to be pc) are in and we are out.  When they run out of physical atrocities then maybe our day will come.

2.@WTarps:  I'm bipolar and been well on meds for 10 years.  Should I still put MH disability down on job apps in case I ever relapse?

@Rubywax Once you’ve said you’re bi-polar on your CV you can’t take it off again.   If you get caught lying they will burn you at the stake and take away your insurance

3. @mariloubluebell why do you think that you are so driven?

@Rubywax  I was raised by immigrants who were always fleeing from one place or another. I’m sure that’s why I’m driven; to stop moving forward means annihilation

4. @BobFlowerpot how do you forgive, and what does that mean? #AskRuby

@Rubywax You forgive by letting go of the hatred and the continuous story in your head that justifies it. However hard it is to forgive, it’s easier than carrying that weight.

5. @sianysianp Thanks for Hay, I worry that CBT is being used as some miracle fix within my local area - have you seen this happening? #AskRuby

@Rubywax Nothing works for everything and there is no miracle but at least there’s something other then GP’s tossing drugs at anyone who has a bad day willy-nill.  At least now you get a human face to talk to and talking plus medication really is the cure. Maybe someday you can get other therapies but one step at a time.

6. @JPeacock101  are you coming birmingham on your tour next year ;o)

@Rubywax You can see all my tour dates here http://www.rubywax.net/tour.html

I don't like parties anymore, I don't think I ever did but when you drink, the world is your oyster card. I remember in the old days throwing it back as fast as I could and thinking I was a joy to behold. I wasn't, I told the same story over and over again and didn't notice people blurring over with boredom. I spent days afterwards on the phone asking if I went too far? If you have to ask it you did.

I went to a large party a few days ago and this time was aware of why in the past I felt the need to get drunk. Maybe it's because I've been practicing mindfulness that this time I could notice with clarity what was happening and what I was feeling and thinking in the moment. When I'm with a few people and feel stressed I have the space to be able to focus my attention on one of my senses either breath, sound, taste, touch or sight and be able to cool down my chattering mind, think clearly and listen to everyone. At this party - with so many people in one room - my mind scattered so I fell straight into my old habits from way back in childhood; getting people laugh to get their approval. Why I need to do this I don't know. It could be because as a child I always thought the more people I could get to like me, the more protected I was from my parents' abuse. It would be like building a human igloo of protection. So I'm at the party moving like a starving animal hunting for attention from person to person. I usually gravitate to those I perceive as the most powerful or popular. If I can get them to like me my self-esteem goes up a mile. That feeling only lasts a few seconds because it's such hard work. While I'm mentally tap dancing for their attention, my mind is assaulting me with, "Any second they're going to find out that I'm a fraud".

I'm ashamed to write this but it's true and better out than in. The rest of the evening is spent panicking about how long I'm supposed to talk to one person and then when do I turn and talk to the next? I don't want them to turn away first: that would stab me in the heart, so I exhaust myself trying to stay interesting even if they're boring me senseless. What kind of people have the confidence to just stand there and be boring? Does this mean they're more evolved or superior to the rest of us? So, I'm standing there holding a glass and my mind is now a car crash of instructions on what to do next. (I never know why we can't sit down. Does standing mean you're a grown-up?) And then dinner starts and you're assigned to sit next to someone you don't know and have to talk to him/her for the rest of the night. Is this supposed to be fun? I'm dripping in sweat because of feeling the burden that I have to keep the conversation titillating. I found myself at this party saying, "So tell me about the diggers you invest in, in East Africa." I caught myself humped over desperately trying to keep my interest going but then thought, "I can't do this anymore" and making sure he didn't notice, I made sure I didn't upset him by letting him finish his speech about diggers, I slipped away. I suppose that is being mindful, noticing that my mind was out of commission and I wasn't really there. I left to sit in the loo to calm my racing mind. I could then clearly decide what I really felt I wanted to do. Without beating myself up about it, which would have happened five years ago, I went to bed. It turns out no one noticed I left. Sometimes it's good not to feel like you have to steal the show - you only end up with a hangover.