Triton of Tension.

I've been back in the 'burbs for less than 3 days and I'm already getting antsy. My discomfort is three-pronged.

PRONG ONE: Metropolis vs. Suburbia.

I never realized how starkly different the adjustment back to a bustling town would be. I think that I just transitioned so easily into city life when I moved to London that it never occurred to me that the switch back might be difficult. I keep talking about making a cultural adjustment, but it's not that. Yes, I do have to get used to America's puritanical views on drinking and the fact that 40% of people I see everyday aren't smoking, but other than that I think I've been alright. I pride myself on my ability to re-acclimate myself quickly. I think it's just the lack of buzz, public transportation and the ability to wander without looking like a crazy person. The fact that I need a car to get anywhere or that this town shuts down at 10 PM were small details that I had almost forgotten about. I've been forced to remember abruptly.


PRONG TWO: The Generation Gap.

I am at an awkward age. I am too old to be in high school yet too young to (realistically) have kids. Because I am in this odd middle range, this town doesn't know what to do with me. I no longer fit here. This feeling gets worse every year. I'm sure this concept will become more pronounced and justified once I've graduated from college. For now, it's not pressing, it's just uncomfortable.

I've been getting this vibe a lot. I'm not saying that small town America has no place for 20-somethings. On the contrary. I am a big fan of small town America, romanticized or no. I don't want to be an outsider, but in my specific community I am. It's no ones fault, they just literally don't really know what to do with me. I also don't really know what to do with myself. I guess it's a double-edged sword.


PRONG THREE: The Shame Complex.

Of all the prongs, this one makes the least sense. For some reason, I don't feel like myself here. I feel like I'm hiding bits of myself from judgmental, cardigan-clad gazes. This makes no sense at all. This is my home. Though the number of people I know in this town is dwindling, it's ridiculous to think that the people I grew up with would turn their backs on me for no reason. It's even more ludicrous because I've spent so much of my life not giving a fuck what they think. Even if I've always secretly cared (just a bit), I am quick to denounce them if they try to change me. I'm obnoxiously stubborn and quite happy with the person I am becoming every day. If they don't like it, they can suck it. I've always thought this. I think that's why this shame that's creeping up on me is freaking me out so much. I already feel stifled and I haven't even done anything.


I'm about to spend a month at home. In the year 2008, I spent a total of four weeks (maybe four and a half) in Sudbury. I'm gearing up for a big shift. In preparation, I am assembling a list of projects. Aside from personal goals, I intend on spending the next month reading plays, hanging out with some ridiculous people and teaching myself needlepoint. Yes, you read correctly. Why? It seems like the type of thing one would do in Vermont. Cross-stitching pillows or whatever is part of my emotional prep for the big move. Silly? Yes. Productive? Absolutely.

I'm including a song at the close of this entry. Not because it has any specific relevance to what I've been saying, but just because it's on my mind. Jay Brannan has a gift for making me feel. He doesn't always make me feel good, and he doesn't always make me feel bad. He just always makes me feel, which is more than I can say about plenty of things.