The Burdensome Existence of a Sociologist

How does the sociological imagination affect social interaction?

She laughed after stating something that wasn’t humourous and now I can’t shake the feeling that I intimidate her. She runs a stray hand through her hair and her pupils begin to dilate. All of this occurs in slow motion; I connect the information and conclude that it’s attraction. She smiles when she speaks and she speaks a lot; but now she’s stopped. I’ve not the faintest idea of what she’s on about because my mind lies elsewhere. The conversation’s cropped short of leading “back to her place” and I’m cursing the day I clapped eyes on ‘Sociology Today.’

When I’m not thinking about my intimate interactions, I’m either thinking about myself or how funny humans are; how hilarious we must appear to a third party observing from a far reaching part of the universe. I’ve involuntarily begun to skip small talk and it throws people off. I find it difficult to begin and end conversations because I feel embarrassed having to labour through the norms that we’ve created for ourselves.

“Hi, how are you?”

“I’m well thanks, how’re you?

“I’m well also. How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, what about you?”

“Well.”

“Well?”

“Well.”

“Jolly good then.”

And so it goes; a bit cynical and hyperbolic, but you get the idea. It’s driving me insane and, unfortunately, it renders courtship tedious. I grow narcissistic as I ponder it and wonder if it’ll ever force me into reclusion. It’s the insincerity of it that bugs me; I seldom experience authentic conversation and when I do, it’s only ever on an intimate, one-on-one level; never in groups. Is this normal for an individual who’s opened their sociological imagination free to exploration? Or is letting it loose the issue? And most importantly, does this make sense to anyone other than me?