I let the others talk me into it after a string of decent battlegrounds. “Just one drink,” they said. “Unwind a little.” And for once I didn’t overthink it. I went.
The tavern in Silvermoon was warm and loud in that familiar way, full of healers swapping war stories like old war wounds. There were three other Discipline priests, a couple of Holy paladins, and even a Restoration shaman who kept buying rounds. We laughed about terrible randoms and traded tips that I’ll probably forget by tomorrow. For a few hours it actually felt nice. Light, I was almost funny. I cracked a joke about bubble-juggling that got a real laugh, and I told the story about the time I tried to heal through a total tunnel in Arathi without dying once. They seemed to like me.
I left feeling lighter than I had in ages.
Then I got home, closed the door behind me, and the silence hit like a silence cloak. The exhaustion rolled in all at once. My face hurt from smiling so much. My voice felt raw. And the overthinking? Oh, it arrived right on schedule.
Did that bubble joke sound stupid once I said it out loud? Was I talking too much about my own queues? I definitely rambled about my house plants for way too long. What if they were just being polite? What if they think I’m the tired priest who can’t shut up about her dock decor?
I collapsed onto the bench by the window, still in my robes, staring at the half-finished tailoring project like it might judge me too. Being social for a few hours shouldn’t feel this draining. I used to do this all the time back in the day. Now it takes everything out of me and leaves me replaying every word like it was a rated match I barely survived.
Still, it was good to laugh with people who actually get it. Maybe I’ll do it again sometime.
After I recover for a week.
~Sahsha
(Weary Discipline Priest Who Survived Socializing, Professional Overthinker of Tavern Conversations, and Currently Hiding From Her Own Memory)