7-18-16
Went to a party at Emilie and Logans farm yesterday.  It was something they put together for the people that buy food from them, not a gathering of friends - since none of the people really knew each other - but a get-together to show people where their food is coming from and where their money is going.  30 people, give or take, who all seemed like decent, friendly people who enjoyed what they were doing and where they were.  There was some excellent food served and apparently a couple of guys brought some good beer from their brewery.  There were a few kids, all under 5, I think, that were well behaved and much less of a nuisance than I expect from kids of any age.  Nice day too, hotter than shit, but at least there was a breeze.

I spent most of the time between 3 and 9:30pm sitting inside on the couch or in the guest bedroom, simultaneously wishing that I had someone to talk to and that I could just be alone and very far away.  I was uncomfortable in a very specific, shitty way.  Not knowing anyone is one thing, but not having anything in common with a bunch of people who clearly have a lot to talk about with each other - even though they were mostly strangers - is shitty.  The normal social lubricants were off the table, for me anyways, I'd rather not talk than act stupid and Dad and Em would get uncomfortable if I were drinking.  Besides, my awkwardness had far outpaced the abilities of gluten-free craft beer within the first 1/2 hour.  It would've taken a lot of cocaine, or maybe some DMT, to break that ice.

It wasn't that I was terrified of talking to people, they were the least threatening people I've met in a long time, but there's a disconnect between me and those people.  A few charitable souls approached me throughout the evening but as soon as soon as the initial smalltalk was finished I became immediately bored as fuck with what we were talking about and hoped they would go find someone else to talk to about permaculture and guinea hens, and then they would and I would wish they were still there.  I grew impatient with (what I considered to be) their polite, inane attempts to be nice to somebody they didn't have much in common with and weren't interested in.  Also, the constant glances at my tattoos and hints that they'd known Emilie long enough to know that her brother was in prison, gave me the impression they wanted to know some stuff they weren't comfortable asking.

This had more to do with me than them.  They were, after all, very nice people.  I just didn't want to have forced conversations with them, it was brutal.  Especially since nearly any discussion of my life over the last 12 years would make one or both of us uncomfortable.  I don't have any stories about livestock or helpful knowledge of cross pollination to share.

This was fine though because none of what was going on was about me.  If I'm socially awkward around people that aren't criminals (still completely comfortable around the total strangers in the waiting room at the parole office, no uneasiness there), it doesn't take away from how great the Tweardies are doing.

It was a success all around, and while I didn't want to be there - and wouldn't have gone if Dad hadn't said we were going to leave after a couple of hours, which he knew was a lie.  I was more upset with him than anything else.  I told him I wasn't comfortable going but wouldn't mind it if we were only there for a couple of hours.  He told me he was only planning on stopping by for a little bit anyway so it didn't seem like a big deal.  But he brought us there way before anyone else showed up - earlier than Emilie had told us to show up - and kept us there as long as he could before leaving.  Emilie basically told us to leave because she didn't need help cleaning up and they were going to sit outside and drink with their friends for a while.  What was worse: the few times I was talking to anybody I would try to involve him in the conversation so he wouldn't just be standing around by himself, and he would physically boxed me out of the circle of people I'd been talking to!  Suddenly I'm standing there with him between me and the people and I'm wondering what the fuck happened.  I would try to stay involved but he would manage to move between me and them and completely act as if I weren't standing there.  I've heard my mom talk about him doing that forever and was never sure how much truth was to it, now I feel bad for her.  After having that happen a few times, I spent the rest of the day hiding out in the house like a teenager.

The word "alienated" occurs to me a lot lately because the term "alien" describes how I feel pretty well.   Situations like that make me realize how far apart I feel from most people.  The way I've learned to treat people, to behave, and to think about and interpret things, is all so different from the accepted way of doing things that I feel like I'm speaking a different language sometimes.  Not just because I feel out of place, but because of how backwards all the shit everyone else is doing seems.  Leaving Stillwater and coming to a place like this feels like landing among an aliens that look and talk and act human, but never quite get it right so there's always a cue telling me (and them), that we're not the same.