Nonfiction - Quiet Home
11pm, Christmas Eve, My Mother's House, "downstate"
--
If you ask anyone from Long Island or NYC, they'll tell you that anything north of Manhattan is considered "upstate".
That same question, when applied to anyone south of Albany(but north of NYC), will tell you that all citizens north of Albany is "upstate", but that everyone south of that area is "downstate".
(This is far more confusing than necessary.)
Screw NYC. I was born downstate. As a general rule, I don't come back here much anymore. There's something wrong with the area. I can't find the word for it, but there's a meanness that's off-putting.
The 90's recession was not kind to the Hudson Valley Region. Several large corporations cut their staff by upwards of 20-30%, and the real estate market took a nosedive. It was around this time that my family fell apart, and I took my first hiatus from college.
Going back home is the mental equivalent of regurgitation, there's too many memories; I get hit with both nostalgia and fear whenever I return. The nostalgia hits me if I drive into certain areas or streets. The fear hits me when I see certain pictures in my mother's house, and a long-forgotten memory flashes before my eyes.
And then I go out to get gas, or go shopping with my friend at the mall, and I listen to the people talk. And Bitch. And Complain. And Bitch. And Act Rude. And Bitch. And do all the things I can't stand.
I moved upstate almost 18 months ago, seemingly to a different world. The girl at the Sunoco station is young, but smiles without a trace of condescension. My friend who owns the pizza place grins and hollars "There he is!" whenever I stop in. A co-worker, whom I didn't think liked me, offered me his mechanic (and a good rate), if I ever had problems with my truck.
I like it upstate. Even on the worst days, people smile.
I miss my friends, though. They understood that it was time for me to go, but my move was abrupt. One day I was there, the next day I was gone. They're good people, and we had good times.
As of late, I've wondered if I should relocate again, or even move back there. But that would be a regression, stepping back into a life I'm still trying to move away from.
No, I don't think that's a good idea at all.
2.5 hours north of here, there is a small apartment on a lake, waiting for me.
-- The Quiet Bastard
--
If you ask anyone from Long Island or NYC, they'll tell you that anything north of Manhattan is considered "upstate".
That same question, when applied to anyone south of Albany(but north of NYC), will tell you that all citizens north of Albany is "upstate", but that everyone south of that area is "downstate".
(This is far more confusing than necessary.)
Screw NYC. I was born downstate. As a general rule, I don't come back here much anymore. There's something wrong with the area. I can't find the word for it, but there's a meanness that's off-putting.
The 90's recession was not kind to the Hudson Valley Region. Several large corporations cut their staff by upwards of 20-30%, and the real estate market took a nosedive. It was around this time that my family fell apart, and I took my first hiatus from college.
Going back home is the mental equivalent of regurgitation, there's too many memories; I get hit with both nostalgia and fear whenever I return. The nostalgia hits me if I drive into certain areas or streets. The fear hits me when I see certain pictures in my mother's house, and a long-forgotten memory flashes before my eyes.
And then I go out to get gas, or go shopping with my friend at the mall, and I listen to the people talk. And Bitch. And Complain. And Bitch. And Act Rude. And Bitch. And do all the things I can't stand.
I moved upstate almost 18 months ago, seemingly to a different world. The girl at the Sunoco station is young, but smiles without a trace of condescension. My friend who owns the pizza place grins and hollars "There he is!" whenever I stop in. A co-worker, whom I didn't think liked me, offered me his mechanic (and a good rate), if I ever had problems with my truck.
I like it upstate. Even on the worst days, people smile.
I miss my friends, though. They understood that it was time for me to go, but my move was abrupt. One day I was there, the next day I was gone. They're good people, and we had good times.
As of late, I've wondered if I should relocate again, or even move back there. But that would be a regression, stepping back into a life I'm still trying to move away from.
No, I don't think that's a good idea at all.
2.5 hours north of here, there is a small apartment on a lake, waiting for me.
-- The Quiet Bastard
posted by The Bastard at 8:57 AM
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