Ran into someone from school yesterday. It wasn’t someone I used to hang out with much, and not someone I’ve been in contact with since (not that there are many), and other than running in to each other very occasionally, we probably don’t know anything about each other. Expecting a second child, she and her (I guess) husband had settled in a house in a suburb. I continue to be amazed at how life runs away with people. It’s entirely surprising to me, this willingness to adapt to the contingencies of life — this ability to do what’s expected, to be able to mould yourself to fit the average transactions of human existance. To recast yourself to the demands put upon you by society and by family life.
All while I exist in some parallel universe of perpetual teenage angst and confusion. So, I guess, the question is — how do people do it? How come they even want it? How do they cope with order, organization, responsibility? On second thought… perhaps it’s not for me to know.
I don’t get it. I don’t. I feel like I’m the only one left on planet Abnormal while everyone else got on the train to the land of Ordinary. I guess they were never on the same planet as me anyway, and that it’s simply becoming all too apparent that they weren’t. I’m still stuck asking myself, and an unresponsive world, what this growing up is going to mean on a personal level. All that happens is that the divide between me and normal adult life is getting increasingly vast, until I don’t know what it is I’m watching on the other side — real humans or some exotic life-form?
Everybody grows up to push prams. Even boys grow up to push prams these days.
I see more and more the allure of fiction. Maybe fiction is the only place left for someone like me — left free from invasions of normalcy, left free from the lifestyles of those humanoid aliens that you encounter in this very real city. Today: heavy rains and thunder.