Packing in Travel in Packs

I’m going to a party tonight–I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been to one. I’m not anti-social, it’s just that my friends are so scattered and disparate in nature that it’s been decades since I netted some of them in the same place at the same time.

And the people I know here aren’t the same as the people I knew there. Or there. Or there. They circle the wagons, using strength in numbers to keep out those who would challenge their merchant mindset. They take trips together, hang out together, rarely if ever go out alone.

The thought of never being alone frightens me more than I ever felt when I was alone–even in weird and possibly dangerous situations.

I never could relate but I tried to for a while because they were the only people I knew here. They’re not bad people, in fact many of them are kind and give their time and money to help others, but some of it smacks as “I’m doing it for business” reasons.

Fuck. I just re-read what I wrote. It makes me sound jealous and judgmental. I guess I am in a way.

I never fit in–I was born a square peg in a round hole. I never did it to be hip, or rebellious, (although I was a rebel in both the effective sense and the tilting-at-windmills sense) it was as much a part of me as my bicornuate uterus.

I always loved the scene in Peggy Sue Got Married when she hangs out with the poet/writer/artsy outcast that she never got to know in high school the first time around. He looks at her and says “I thought chicks like your traveled in packs.” 

Nope. Some of us don’t.

 

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Packing in Travel in Packs

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