trying to find friendship when caught in the bubble of flatulent affluence, with few like-minds caught in between
I am really bad at these title cards, but they're fun little exercises in word wrapping paper. I don't want to come off as a dork, but I am and will not change no how no where.
I've come to a final conclusion: moving to, and in general as a whole, this town was and is a grave error. I'm a rounded corner triangular shape trying to squeeze itself into a square, and I feel like the futility of it all is getting my emotions our of shape. I'm not a suit-haver, I don't play golf, and I don't care much about my appearances. I don't do glam or summer as a verb, and I don't drive a lease. Glencoe is full of people and folk who simply will never understand me or my life's story, and don't care to learn it; and I feel as though I don't want to really know theirs.
I need more time in a day to foster friendships with current acquaintances in my town that I feel more connected toward. I am terrible at small talk, but maybe I just need to branch out there and try...
I am not going to let this town change who I am, through and through, but I will try to be a good neighbor. I want to introduce native habitat on my plot of land, but I should do so (at least to start) through the lens of their imaginations. Does that even make sense? idk. I hate this town.
I keep returning to that statement: I hate this town. I hate this country. I hate this town. I hate its folk. I keep up the mantra until it's distressing and then I feel frustrated and sad. It becomes a theme in therapy -- I mention it, I mention how I feel inadequate for these folk and utterly out of place in its manicured controlled world. I guess I'm just getting hung up, time and again, about its very air. The entitlements, the supremacy of their lived experiences, the very bubble confined on three sides by golf courses and a massive nature preserve.
Don't move to Glencoe if you like to garden with your own hands.