Nippin' at My Heels

I moved to Pennsylvania from Kentucky 16 years or so ago at the ripe old age of 17. I had come to visit my older sister for a week and just never left. She was living with her boyfriend who worked a lot and was glad (most of the time) to have the company, so I just kind of hung around. We choose to interpret the old Benny Franklin quote of "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days" a little differently than most. He probably meant "smell...good" and wanted to illustrate how smell is closely linked to memory and long visits are a way to make great memories, etc. I'm always looking for opportunities to help deceased influential people say what they really mean.

Things were so much different up here, and it was a culture shock to say the least. There was just so much more up here. More people (outnumbering cows even!), more cars and therefore traffics jams (NOT caused by tractors), and just more things to do in general. The small town I came from had (shout out to Cadiz!) a population of 2,148 (well, 2,147 after I left) where they rolled the sidewalks up at 8pm. You need milk at 10pm? You better get your ass out to the barn and start milking because the Piggly Wiggly closed hours ago. That's right, we has a Piggly Wiggly.

So, after the initial excitement of the change of scenery and faster pace wore off, it actually became overwhelming. There were too many people, too many cars, and for the love of everything holy, too many

traffic jams. I actually had my first panic attack in gridlock on 76. Ahhh memories. I remember calling my mom, crying and pointing to the fact that there was no way out of this traffic. I was literally stuck. No way in and no way out. This idea had sent my anxiety levels through the (car)roof. She was responding appropriately, saying all the motherly things until I had calmed down and ended with, "Well, maybe you should come home." This, I thought, would be my plan as I felt like a transplant being rejected by its host/body.

I decided to look for a job in the meantime, ya know for some spending money while I was up here and obviously to save for my inevitible move back to Kentucky. I was hired at a music store and quickly became somewhat of an attraction. My coworkers would bring friends in on their lunch break for the simple pleasure of hearing my Kentucky accent. "Say what you said earlier..." or squealing with delight when one of them introduced me to their brother and I replied with, "Oh, y'all are kin?" Typing this all out makes this sound malicious and them like assholes, but for the most part it wasn't; I was just a shock to their culture ( and, well, some of them were assholes). I soon earned the lovely nickname of Pennsyltucky, thankfully way before Orange is the New Black associated it with the image of a rotten-toothed, racist meth addict.

After a few months, things settled down a bit. I was no longer an anxious mess and was starting to adapt to my surroundings Titally going to finish this soon...