As my son (who is not yet a teenager) said to me on Friday, "You don't understand my life!"
I've been, with my family, to a ceilidh. Other people appear to enjoy ceilidhs; in fact, to the other people there it probably appeared that I was enjoying myself. But at this point I feel so utterly drained that ... well, you probably don't want to hear the rest. I'm not sick; I'm not ill. It's just that these events work differently for me - I have to put so much effort in that by the end I have nothing left.
I'll be OK; this'll pass. I don't mind enduring something that is recognised as being horrible - like going to the dentist. But it seems so unfair to have to endure something that, I assume, is meant to be fun.
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