on a mission to never agree

There's a memorial service down in Kent that I'm debating whether or not to drive down for, as these things are more for the living than the dead, and those that are living are those I love even if geography and life unfurling have kept me from keeping in touch as much as I'd like. Maybe the roots that seemed deep then are not as much as I thought, or the ones that I was most close to are no longer there, or we've both changed. I see the arguments on facebook sometimes and just know not to go there, sad that I can't hash these out on a back porch or over a cup of coffee anymore.

The shrillness of the political climate made me swing more to the right out of more of a contrary nature perhaps than anything else, but because I was sick of the hagiography of Michael Moore (where's he been lately anyway) and a naturally cynical temperament that tempered even the idealism I once had.

I never realized you felt that way, so many people who knew me for three years of that formative time said, maybe because especially then I dumpster-dived, wore my clothes until they fell apart and had strange tribal bones stuck in my ears and listened to Fugazi and always said the wrong thing so maybe I've just been terrible at towing anybody's line and therefore never felt completely understood by some and definitely not accepted by others.

It's ironic that as I've gotten older and looked more square to be appropriate to paycheck-earning, I find myself more comfortable in my own weird skin and over time sounding more kooky and distrustful of the government of either party than most of my friends on the right and the left. We're all a bit nuts I guess. Shocking. Go figure. I guess that's how it goes