Thursday, January 23, 2003

Hey, reunion this

There's just no way that Irene, who I last remember as a girl in my 6th grade class, with whom I discussed the prospect of getting training bras, has a son that is graduating from our high school. That is not even remotely possible, because if it is, that means I'm...(gasp). Damn, I am that old. When did this happen?

Of course, she asked me if I'd gone to our class reunion. I just couldn't bring myself to go, because all I could think about was the awful time I had when I was in that school, and I figure that the few people who I was friends with I will either bump into around town, or I'll find them on if I get really enthusiastic about it at some point. I rather deliberately ignored the plaintive requests for information about me that I got from the alumni committee, as I just can't get up any interest in going back there.

As much as I live in the past at times, I just couldn't see going and trying to be interested in these people and what their children are doing and what jobs they have and what car they drive and...blah, blah, blah. And if I'm really honest about it (yes, please), I didn't want to be scrutinized by any of these clowns. I remember all too well feeling crushed under the scrutiny of these people as a teenager, not fitting in, all the usual outsider teenage angst feelings, and I must admit that I would not relish the opportunity to open the floodgates of a thousand petty indignities suffered during those years. I have enough to deal with in therapy as it is.

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