Wasting Away Again in Norvilletown

CNN recently ran an article "Your Blog Can be Group Therapy" in which they studied how people with all sorts of problems find relief by talking about it publicly via their blogs. "Overeating, alcohol, depression...." Any darkness you may have may find resolution through the miracle of online sharing.

So, what's my darkness? The place where I live. I'll call it Norvilletown.

I don't want to publish the actual name of my town. I mean, it isn't all bad, at least, that's what my friends try to tell me. We have a coffee house within walking distance. And heck, they're even repainting the Kroger's. Things and people are looking up.

The problem here is when you look down. You don't have to strain to see the ugly underbelly of Norvilletown. It is a small, Appalachian city trying to be a big, mainstream city but just can't get it right. Truly, it could be any American city that has seen its share of hard times. The hill people moved in to work the factories during the boom times. When the factories closed, the hill people stayed. They couldn't afford the gas to leave. Property values plummeted. Education scores plummeted. The mayor grew corrupt. The only thing on the rise now is the price of crack cocaine. Old story, right? It could be anywhere.

The blue-collar depression has made it easy for people like me to move in, though. Artists need cheap places to live. So here I am, trying to coexist with people I don't understand, and frankly, am slightly afraid of. I spend my evenings watching the parentless children play in the streets. I watch the children force themselves into adulthoods filled with drugs, prostitution and whatever their crimes of choice are. I can see the grown-up-babies getting each other pregnant and starting the cycle over, that is, when their fetuses actually survive the chemically enhanced embryonic fluid.

Norvilletown is a sad, sad place to me. And here I am. Trying to just find a way to deal with my existence here. I hope someday to understand what I'm seeing, or at least find peace with it. I hope I can even think of the people around me with some kind of gentle fondness. But for now, for today, I struggle.