I have to apologise. I’ve been a bad blogger lately, and that’s not going to change for a while. My life, if I decide to commit to it, is going to be a whirlwind week with exams and job hunting and scrounging for money.
Update on my life: I visited my hometown on the weekend. It was pretty great, actually. I started off the weekend with a Friday night drinking at the Many Horses Saloon (yes, I come from a town- no, village- with a saloon that is painted with realistic rural landscapes and horses all over the walls and is named after said horses). So many old friends were there and it was pretty busy for such a small place. I had a blast.
But I keep getting this weird feeling that I secretly hate myself when I’m drunk. After the night is through, I come home and am like, “Why did I say that? That’s not true. I don’t mean that. Why did I act like that? That’s not me. I’m not that person.” And then I start to hate myself. It’s not like I go get drunk and punch people and bitch them out and hit on everyone. It’s not like typical drunk person regrets. It’s a hard thing to describe. But my brother actually told me that I was annoying. And, ugh that kid, he’s right! And I was feeling that way too. But too late. I’m happy that my brother said this to me. Even though we’re not like best friends, I think we get each other enough to trust the other person and their judgment. His saying that to me validated all the feelings that I was having but that no one was reciprocating. I feel like I just need to tone it down. Every time I drink I’m like a super hyper “I remember my first beer,” everybody’s best friend/personal photographer kind of drunk. I don’t mind that but then there’s a point when I step over the line between being that super stoked girl and I start to do stuff that is not appropriate and has no place at all in my life. If I can be aware of that line, I’m fine… but while drunk is a lot of things, “aware” is something it is not.
Every time I go home, I dread the following questions: What are you studying? What year are you in? What are you going to with that degree? Where/how is your mom? Have you talked to her?
BACKGROUND INFO: My mom cheated on my dad with males of every demographic (you don’t discriminate when you have no standards, I guess). Everyone and their dog knew about it but decided to let my family be oblivious for billions of years until she left one day. I haven’t seen her for a long time and I don’t necessarily care to. BACKGROUND INFO OVER.
The people that ask me these questions are usually the same people. Every. Goddamn. Time. Now the thing about small towns is that 99% of the people that ask you these questions DO NOT GIVE A SHIT. They don’t. They want gossip. They want to be nosy. That’s small town life. There’s not much else to do so why not spread gossip? Makes perfect sense… Except it’s fucking depressing.
Most of the time, when asked these questions, my answer doesn’t really matter unless I provide juicy info. My answers are then forgotten and I am faced with the same questions upon my next arrival. I think you can tell that I get annoyed. Especially because I am one of the least nosy people to ever exist. There’s a reason why people don’t share things with everyone and I can respect that. I get the feeling that most people will generally say what they want to say to who they want to say it to, if they want to say it.
Sometimes I want to mess with people and just tell some ridiculous story about how I’m studying under the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and that my mom is six feet under thanks to my Ninja Turtle friends bringing her and Shredder down. But that’s mean. And false. And any gossip about my family would probably bring my poor dad down. So I just say, “I’m in my fourth year studying History. I will probably become a professor. I don’t talk to my mom.” The trick is to not provide any new information… I think it’s working too. This trip home, only one person asked me both those questions. But this was an exception. Because the 1% of people who ask me these questions genuinely care. My answer is no different but sometimes more in depth. I’m not lying to anybody but I don’t feel the need to share my personal/legal/familial shit with everyone. And I’m sure other people don’t care to tell others their family problems or dark past or anything like that.
I’m so torn about small towns. Because that 99% is too much. You wave to them on the street or in your car, have short conversations in the grocery store or at the high school basketball game but you don’t go over to their houses or spend long phone calls catching up like you do with the 1%. The people that take you in when you need it and the people that you would do the same for. There’s the people that you don’t understand and the people you love. Small towns can be great with their charm and landscapes and the stars (that you can actually see). But once you get over all of that, they’re boring. And when they get to be boring, you get out.