Thursday, October 16, 2008


CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: Sleeping Dogs and Bitter Pills

In which our hero mopes a little more.

[Saturday afternoon, October 4th, Metamora, IL]

"I seem to have gained nothing from turning over rock here. It does seem oddly appropriate that I am here reliving all this stuff as alone as I was when I was growing up here."

This was only partly a mope. I had driven through a couple of parts of town, and for such a nice day, it seemed oddly empty. The section of town where I used to live seemed to be falling into decline, further adding to the sense of, for lack of a better word, 'wrongness'.

As for my being alone most of the time, well, I was about 8 hours from getting some insight into that issue. As far as the past went, I never quite fit in then, either. And, as a child I didn't have the confidence in myself or the strength of character to stand as an individual apart from the group. Even though I found interactions with my peers to be boring/uninteresting, I still craved the acceptance of the group. That whole dynamic of wanting to be part of, yet not really getting anything form the group has followed me for many years.

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