The Badly Written Sitcom

It’s insane. It’s 3 in the morning, in my less than honorable job “writing” job, and I suddenly get the urge to look up old high school acquaintances in, of all things, friendster. I just find it a little off, since I never really liked high school, I pretty much disliked the majority of the people there, and I absolutely despise who I was back then. (Wow, this is shaping up to be an honest post.)

Who I was back then is pretty fucking far cry from who I am now. Then again, understand the roots. While the best friends I’ve made and still have I made in high school, truth is never really liked them all that much back then. Natural thing to hate being so confined in one place for 12 years of life. (Maybe why I can’t stay still anywhere for more than a few months.)

The school I came from was one of these old, oppressive, small town high schools that was more conservative and old fashioned than most Catholic schools I’ve heard about. (That explains how I’ve developed my distaste for authority figures.)

There wasn’t really anyone I could relate to in the majority of my life there. From my singular point of view, they were just really, really odd. Of course, not everyone saw it that way. The place, the entire population I thought, was just strange in its familiarity, their insistence for being ordinary often left me confused and not very sociable. Unlike the persona I carried during college, I was less accepting of what I didn’t fully understand. I held their simplicity against, as their simplicity was just too complex for me. They were wrapped up in the most inane things, excited about things that were, again from my own point of view, pointless. (Took me nearly a decade to fully understand what the hoopla was all about.)

When I met my friends, the ones I referred to earlier, I didn’t fucking like them either. I was content in my little social bubble, until they forced their way in. It would be years before I would appreciate that gesture, when I wasn’t so high strung and uptight. (And less of a “dork” and not quite the outcast.)

Now, apparently, I can’t find any of those people. Mainly because anyone that mattered to me are already on my contact list, and frankly, I couldn’t remember any of their names. I’ve been assessing my so called life recently, and after my little quest of high school personalities, smoking a cigarette at 5 AM looking at the slowly brightening sky, it just pretty much dawned on me. (Pun kinda intended.)

I fucking hate that place, and I not particularly fond of the people in that place either. I’m as indifferent to those jerk offs now as I was then, with a few exceptions of course. Maybe I’ve just been listening to too much of Kim Richey’s A PLace Called Home. (The song played in a Season 5 episode of Angel, after the one where Fred died. See, the inner geek never dies.)

I’m done there, and with them, long before I was actually done. Who I was then? Dead. For a long time now. Tonight was my last look back, and while the anecdotes from that time I’ll still use to entertain the people in my life now, I’m not particularly itching to relive all that. I understand now, but I still think it’s lame. (You go girl, err… boy.)

(Hi Ila.)

This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 22nd, 2007 at 2:35 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.