Worn

I've started to dread certain things, certain conversations.  I've started to dread certain places, certain people for the repetitive nature of the references that wear on me.  I never expected to fall out of the world so quickly, to find myself stranded by what I suppose is some sort of generation gap so fast.

I find that frequently I care nothing for the topics under discussion, for the endless review of TV shows that apparently fascinate and obsess most of the others.  It does not matter to me what happens on American Idol or Gray's Anatomy.  Really.  And I get very tired of hearing how "daring" some people are when they head out for an evening at the most generic and poorly-staffed of chain restaurants and a dish they've never had before.  Is this what an exciting life is?  I've never thought so.  And yet, lately, this is what I'm surrounded by. 

It all just makes me feel so damn old.  Or strange.  Or both.  Does nobody talk about the things I do anymore?  Isn't there anyone who wants or views or does the things that I enjoy?  Am I passe or just horribly out of place?  I don't introduce topics of conversation anymore because I got tired long ago of the blank stares and the long, painful, awkward pauses before the return to the over-bright trivialities.  I don't talk about books or "odd cuisine" or even really ideas anymore in those places because it seems like everything has devolved to what Orwell's character Syme called "duckspeak."  (And yes, right now everything is 1984-ese because I'm rereading it for the umpty-umpth time...) I don't know how to resolve it. I just know that it makes me feel left out and worn down.

Don't get me wrong.  I have friends who "get me."  I do have people I can talk to about things and who don't make me feel like a reject and an oddity.  But they're getting fewer and farther between.  I hate this.