Small Town Fever
The hardest thing about going home, or talking to people from home, is that they still see you in that same frigging way that you were in highschool. Or else, they have decided that YOU feel you are too good for them, and forevermore conversations are stilted, awkward, uncomfortable and mutually insincere. It's a wonderful feeling. Especially with ex's, of any kind: the good, the bad, the really really lazy, or emotionally depressed. These are the joyous interactions, the obligatory 'How are you?' and 'It was wonderful to meet your 17 year old girlfriend, you two seem incredibly happy in your new trailer, with that pitbull, new truck and 2 children! I'm so happy for you!'. Meanwhile, you get that look, the one that implies that since you have decided not to procreate you are obviously a prude, not to mention the possibility of being a lesbian (not that there's anything wrong with that - a la Seinfeld) because you do not *gasp* have a significant other. The fact that you say 'significant other' only makes the impression deeper that you are batting for the other team. This does not go over well in a town of oh, say 7000. Impressions are everything, and whatever you say, especially about your education is taken either as a 'I am holier than thou' or 'I will forever be a geek'. Double-edged sword man. Especially with the fact that everyone in the next four hours, will know that you are back in town, and will have some sort of comment about you. Its fantastic that way - fame, you know.
And of course you have that one friend, the one who still hasn't told their mother they smoke at the age of 23, because they are worried about getting kicked out of their home - who is so excited to see you when you get back into town - because they can then come and smoke on your doorstep. This smoking occurs while they tell you the sordid details of each and every person's life that they work with, and for some reason, you find yourself lighting up, and jumping back into the good ol' days of gossip. Is this the only way to enjoy someone's company? Surely there are different aspects to friendship. However, this whole idea seems to slip out of reality once you drive through your single stop-light, past the familiar signposts, which are gramatically incorrect, the 'quaint' decorations and industrial storefronts, and tool down the two-lane highway to home, sweet home.
Perhaps the most infuriating thing is that for some goddamn reason, you care about what these people think.
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