Forks: Rocking the suburbs
Except that I would gladly give this up for the suburbs.
Yeah. I miss the suburbs. I'm scared, too. To be fair, Southington was a bit bigger than a suburb, but I miss it.
The actual place, not just the people. I miss the people more of course, but you never actually think of what the phrase 'small town' means.
(Sigh)
Anyway, Burt Paul finally gets us to city center, and a few moments later we leave it. Pretty much all mbusiness here could fit comfortably in downtown Southington. I was shocked. I'm still shocked. I keep on thinking of things I took for granted that it takes at least an hour to get to now. Malls. Game stores. And just about anything worth doing. It's insane. You buy clothes at the grocery store. I'm still wrapping my head around it. I always knew I was a city boy, but I never knew to what extent. In a city you can do whatever. Anything and everything you could want is right there. Here you have to plan days ahead to see a new movie. You need a god internet connection to get a new game. I always thought that given my views on nature and stuff, I should be at home away from all the cars and noise and concrete. But now I'm almost ready to reconsider my views on nature. I'll always b for conservation, but in my life, my space. I'm not willing to sacrifice my freedom to see the occasional elk.
And, when you're in a city you can kind of fade away if you so desire. People don't have time for you, and you can fly under their radar, seeking out your own way. But here all the various people just assault you. I recognize everybody. It's scary. I don't remember who I pissed off. I had my exploits recounted to me within hours of them happening. I don't know how the fuck to act here. I need people I know! I need you guys so much. I knew I'd miss you, but I never knew how much I had grown to depend on you all. to kind of retreat from everyone else in a world that's either indifferent or hostile to me.
PA means Port Angeles here. I keep yelling at kids that it means Pennsylvania.
Why would one want to contract Port Angeles, anyway? It's not that long.
Preppies hunt here. Preppies have guns. What the fuck? I've heard multiple guys brag about the cute fluffy animals they've killed and how much they hate cats. Basil isn't going outside. ever.
After a week of listening to people talk, I've come to a pretty firm conclusion. This town is dying. The happy, cheery hamlet my mom was always harping about was largely fictional. Granted, the Christians here and quite amiable people, but I'm not exactly a Christian. Regardless, the town is dying. The economy was based on logging, which depended on robbing the spotted owl of it's habitat. Cheery, eh? So once mankind wised up to the fact that they were driving another living thing to extinction, business went to poop. "I can't kill off an entire species? Aw, shucks." It's been decaying ever since. Anyone with half a brain wants to get the hell away from here, and the only youngish people I can find have some naive idea about small-town atmosphere, or got screwed when they were in High school. So, a majority of the people are kindly retirees, hicks, idiots, or unable to keep it in their pants. Not that there aren't exceptions. But anyone who's family hasn't lived here for years should be clearing off as soon as possible.
There is one god thing about this place, though. There's this beach that my parents showed me.
It was like something out of my dreams. There are mounatins on one side, and islands on the other, and the entire beach is covered with falen trees. The trees aren't cut, though. They still have their natural majesty. And at dusk, the whole beach is shrouded in fog. I ran along tree trunks looking out across the water at the moon and the clouds and the mist. And as I walked alon, the island became more majestic, and the moutains became more mystic. The incandescent lights on the reservation across the river seemd almost natural. As if their defiance against the natural order of chaos was muted by the overwhelming power of the fog. And lights, branches and fog swirled together to make all sorts of images. I saw bears and cougars and things i don't fully understand. If I ever believed in anything spiritual, it was there.
The next Foggy dusk I get, I'm taking pictures for you all.
Next post: The school and people: This is not my life, it's just a fond farewel to a friend.
Yeah. I miss the suburbs. I'm scared, too. To be fair, Southington was a bit bigger than a suburb, but I miss it.
The actual place, not just the people. I miss the people more of course, but you never actually think of what the phrase 'small town' means.
(Sigh)
Anyway, Burt Paul finally gets us to city center, and a few moments later we leave it. Pretty much all mbusiness here could fit comfortably in downtown Southington. I was shocked. I'm still shocked. I keep on thinking of things I took for granted that it takes at least an hour to get to now. Malls. Game stores. And just about anything worth doing. It's insane. You buy clothes at the grocery store. I'm still wrapping my head around it. I always knew I was a city boy, but I never knew to what extent. In a city you can do whatever. Anything and everything you could want is right there. Here you have to plan days ahead to see a new movie. You need a god internet connection to get a new game. I always thought that given my views on nature and stuff, I should be at home away from all the cars and noise and concrete. But now I'm almost ready to reconsider my views on nature. I'll always b for conservation, but in my life, my space. I'm not willing to sacrifice my freedom to see the occasional elk.
And, when you're in a city you can kind of fade away if you so desire. People don't have time for you, and you can fly under their radar, seeking out your own way. But here all the various people just assault you. I recognize everybody. It's scary. I don't remember who I pissed off. I had my exploits recounted to me within hours of them happening. I don't know how the fuck to act here. I need people I know! I need you guys so much. I knew I'd miss you, but I never knew how much I had grown to depend on you all. to kind of retreat from everyone else in a world that's either indifferent or hostile to me.
PA means Port Angeles here. I keep yelling at kids that it means Pennsylvania.
Why would one want to contract Port Angeles, anyway? It's not that long.
Preppies hunt here. Preppies have guns. What the fuck? I've heard multiple guys brag about the cute fluffy animals they've killed and how much they hate cats. Basil isn't going outside. ever.
After a week of listening to people talk, I've come to a pretty firm conclusion. This town is dying. The happy, cheery hamlet my mom was always harping about was largely fictional. Granted, the Christians here and quite amiable people, but I'm not exactly a Christian. Regardless, the town is dying. The economy was based on logging, which depended on robbing the spotted owl of it's habitat. Cheery, eh? So once mankind wised up to the fact that they were driving another living thing to extinction, business went to poop. "I can't kill off an entire species? Aw, shucks." It's been decaying ever since. Anyone with half a brain wants to get the hell away from here, and the only youngish people I can find have some naive idea about small-town atmosphere, or got screwed when they were in High school. So, a majority of the people are kindly retirees, hicks, idiots, or unable to keep it in their pants. Not that there aren't exceptions. But anyone who's family hasn't lived here for years should be clearing off as soon as possible.
There is one god thing about this place, though. There's this beach that my parents showed me.
It was like something out of my dreams. There are mounatins on one side, and islands on the other, and the entire beach is covered with falen trees. The trees aren't cut, though. They still have their natural majesty. And at dusk, the whole beach is shrouded in fog. I ran along tree trunks looking out across the water at the moon and the clouds and the mist. And as I walked alon, the island became more majestic, and the moutains became more mystic. The incandescent lights on the reservation across the river seemd almost natural. As if their defiance against the natural order of chaos was muted by the overwhelming power of the fog. And lights, branches and fog swirled together to make all sorts of images. I saw bears and cougars and things i don't fully understand. If I ever believed in anything spiritual, it was there.
The next Foggy dusk I get, I'm taking pictures for you all.
Next post: The school and people: This is not my life, it's just a fond farewel to a friend.