illusionofjoy | The plaza (Reply)

I went out for a walk tonight. I was restless, now I'm just depressed. I opted for taking a swing up the road through Mt. Lebanon's business district (the suburban "downtown," if you will). The air was cool, with a bit of fog hanging above the ground. I walked in silence, the environment completely the opposite of my brief constitutional in South Side last night. I made it to a small plaza I hadn't noticed before, where I sat down, just thinking...

Just thinking...

It gets me every time, just thinking. That little plaza reminded me of one of the two parks I used to go to in the middle of the night in Potsdam, when I didn't have to worry about waking up early for a job the next day. I used to go often on Friday nights because I didn't attend many parties. The ones I did attend were usually held by friends and I would end up getting completely trashed and chain-smoke cloves until I left for the night.

Still, I sat there in that little plaza in the business district of Mt. Lebanon, thinking about the plazas and parks I used to frequent in Potsdam and feeling sad that I would never feel anything as familiar as those parks ever again. I think this is how people get trapped. There are a lot of people from small towns who are born there, grow up there and die there, never having been more than ten miles from where they were born. I have an advantage there: I moved a lot and travelled; I've tasted the fruit of different locals and it made me hungry for more. It's a pity I'm not travelling now. Instead, I've relocated to a place alien to me, despite the fact that I know my way around really well.

I hated Potsdam - I still hate it, with it's lack of culture and opportunities and stupid redneck population just nipping at the village borders. Yet, there I was, sitting in a plaza in my new alien home longing for the familiarity of Potsdam. I hated myself for thinking that way. I knew the truth: anything I had accomplished there was stripped away because I couldn't hold my shit together to play like they wanted me to. You don't get to keep your position as a big fish in a small pond if you're a neurotic mess. I definitely qualify as a neurotic mess.

In some ways, I was feasting before. Now I get kicked in the face, begging for crumbs from the tables of others. How dare you filthy beggars - don't you know who I am!

I'm nobody...not right now, anyhow.

The clock rolled over to midnight. I only realised it because a nearby set of traffic lights changed patterns from their usual green, yellow and red to an alternating set of red and yellow flashing lights. I got up from where I was sitting and began walking home. The fog had grown thicker and the air had grown colder, though not uncomfortably so. Still, the thickness of the fog was alarming. I could see it swirl in the streetlights, like some amorphous beast trying to swallow the world. It looked menacing and I could feel it wrapping around me like a cold, wet blanket. This wasn't natural fog...this was the type of fog that got pumped out of machines for shitty horror movies.

This type of fog existed in Potsdam as well.