My own reaction to this is self-loathing. I go home still buzzing from the caffeine and conversation and then replay it all and hate myself. Telling repetitive stories like a drunk old man, interrupting, barking at people for interrupting me, giving unsolicited opinions on others' lives, ignoring or fighting their opinions of mine.
Excuse me, I have to brush a bug off my chest.
To add to this, socializing always gets tangled up with my problems with sex, so that I'm constantly meeting or seeing or talking to someone I'm attracted to but have no confidence to approach even if it's somehow possible. I'm so much older than everyone I meet that I feel both predatory and pathetic even thinking about it, and the friends I could reasonably have interest in are all attached anyway. Strangers I just ogle like the other disasters on the patio. It's Guilt Without Sex, redux.
There is now another bug on my leg. I don't like summer so much, what with the bugs.
In sum I need to socialize and hate it. And inevitably I end up feeling spent and dead inside, and angry at everyone, and angry at myself, and then I go home and stare at the ceiling and think: Jesus Christ. I'm almost forty and I'm still thirteen. This has sucked for a really, really long time.
And then I slide into sleep and dream of travel-related anxieties.