Displacement

I fear that I’ve become a complainer. People who complain and are negative all the time tire me, and sometimes I tire of listening to myself. 

But chronic pain is an extenuating circumstance, right? Sometimes I wonder. I guess I’m tired of being depressed, of having a limb that doesn’t care about my attempts at meditation, of (some of) these people’s inability to make declarative statements. 

Somebody once said that my colour is yellow because I’m so sunshiny. Thinking about it now, I haven’t felt all that sunshiny since I moved back to Minnesota. It’s been three and a half years – it feels like it’s been longer. That’s a long time for a cheerful person to be missing their bounce. 

This is not how I imagined it would be. The plans and the optimism I felt about coming back are trash, and some of the people who wanted me back here so bad act like trash, too. Maybe it’s because I matured in a different culture. Maybe I realised these people never ever agreed with way I operate in the first place. Maybe I just felt blood allegiance. 

I miss my Georgia people, the people who want to be around me because of who I am, not because we have history. I miss the openness, affection, and willingness to be silly. And as messed up as the politics are, I miss Atlanta. I can’t believe they reelected Nathan Deal, though. Well, maybe I can. Some folks can be real ignorant. 

But I can’t move back until I’m either making mad money or physically fit, preferably both. I think tomorrow I’m gonna call a fellow Atlantan, and reconnect.