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     diary at DiaryLand.com! contact me older entries newest entry The broken spoked shit-shacks of my old Kentucky home.

2002-06-26 - 4:09 p.m.

Another exciting day at work, another day down feeling the anxious pull of life to happen. I like my job, oddly enough. The past couple of years it's been hard for me to do that having to cover my face and hide the hangovers and uneasiness. This job is perfect for the moment, no stress and I never have to "bring it home". It's fairly menial, and I do sometimes wonder if they would even notice if I didn't do anything at all.

A close friend of mine is considering moving back here with his wife, and I started to run down my usual list of complaints and slander, and then I thought "well, it actually hasn't been too bad" In the past I think I would have said that I wish the place would either burn down so I wouldn't have to return, or that I hope I drop dead before I would let it happen. I get concerned when I consider that it doesn't bother me as much to be here. Yesterday I heard my father say "Well, it's the kind of place that once you give it a chance and live here, you never want to leave!" He was saying this as a positive thing, and I just shuddered at how cryptic it all sounded.

There's a lot of the same faces and people here, people I went to high school with, now usually married and settled down. I'm fairly fortunate that they don't recognize me or remember me. I get uncomfortable when they're even in my vicinity. There was a time when it felt like a consensus had been reached that I was to be disliked by everyone in my class regardless of whether I had ever even met or spoken to them.

The same pastor that went after me and a friend when we ran the Community College radio station for giving out condomns to students for aids awareness still gets his uninformed hate rants printed in the paper frequently. I saw a co-worker who was an Asst. Chef at my first job 12 years ago working the counter at one of our two "Hardee's". Everyone I used to know, still seems to see and think of me the way I used to be, but why wouldn't they? They're still gripping about the same things that they did 10 years ago.

I keep thinking about doing a little slap together magazine because I'm so curious to question people about how long and why they are here. Not insulting their choice, but I'm just curious about the perspective they might have. Something like Studs Terkel "Working". For whatever reason, whether they love it, hate it, did leave or can't leave, I have this fascination with wanting to understand to help make sense of how my view of it all became so skewered....

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