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Scythes to plowshares: part 2

2010-10-16 - Witching Houresque

This begins disc 1, side 2.

Sometimes I would get attached,
but then life came,
or circumstance,
or the lure of the open road. I would be lying if I said some strange part of me did not enjoy it. At first I thought I was outcast, and shied away even as I came to know alternative-minded folk in high school, but then discovered this strange sick love for the rambling way.

So when the last chapter ended with Emily, and it was time to move back to what I craved instead of compromised on, a thought happened: I don't want to fundamentally be alone anymore. Being the hero sucks.

There are literally a few reasons.

I am the very coccyx of Generation X, and time moves on, and there is a time when a man stands around the town square of his peers and sees many more people unlike himself, who have settled down and chosen their lot for as long as they can keep it. Youth is beginning to gently fade, and I am keenly aware of it.

There is also a not at all insubstantial matter. I am the last descendant of my mother's line. We have almost entirely been shamans, medicine women (because I'm the first male born in 8 generations on my mom's side), occultists, and literal gypsy fortune-tellers. We have flaws, we could all arguably be mildly schizophrenic, but I cannot and will not let myself be the last.

I am too damned cute to be, damnit.

There are..alternatives..but I remember what it was like growing up, before I knew how to defend myself: the guilt, the occasional hostility but more frequent invisibility around other people, the rare and strange occurrences that can vastly change lives because you are you, and the chronic sense of fear in knowing,
but not knowing,
that something is there,
and it does not mean you well. That child would need to be raised by someone who knows and can protect them, for my mother was often too preoccupied scrapping stained glass at all hours to feed us.

I have to stop for my own happiness (which makes an old part of me laugh). Otherwise I will find myself old, staring ahead, and praying for the most asinine academia love trope to occur to save myself from myself. And scientists are fascinating but typically dull people.

So I wasn't expecting the faerie/blue-haired goat goddess/Ratt and Tandoori. Sold a photograph to Ratt once back in the day, where days were. Facebooked her this early August because I was..and she's told me this already..I was trying to meet new people or getting to re-know them or something. It was a lark. I read they needed help moving.

So I helped them move in together, for they are item.

I figured at the least it'd be one day where I could be a part of a group dynamic and then likely go about my merry way. After all was said and done and we were relaxing on the newly installed couch, though, Ratt without much ceremony announced that I was now going to be invited to stuff and that there would be things to do.

I thought: "I have been trying to find new friends. This idea of randomly messaging someone who bought a piece of art from me was snazzy." And so there were Mystery Science Theater 3000 nights, with downloaded spoof audio for modern movies. There was going out and drinking. There was more going out but with less drinking. It was wonderful to be a part of something again, even though (at the time) I figured it was the same old pattern with just an older me. Sooner or later, things would get weird, the friendships would sort of conclude themselves like a movie after some definitive event or not much at all had occurred, or,
or,
I was called out to wander the social landscape again in search of whatever the fuck based on supernal sonar.

But...for the first time in my life, I don't think that will happen.

I have a home now. And all it took was getting back in contact with someone I'd sold some art to...

[This ends disc 1, part 2. Please insert disc 2 to continue.]

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