Social Dance of Doom

Imagine Mr. Fred Astaire - who is certainly not an awkward dancer despite what studio stills might show.

I'm writing tonight of the social disconnect, the malfunction.

I went to a potluck tonight for Independence Day. It resulted in a social disconnect.

The host has the attention span of a gnat (though he's a great guy) and the dinner rapidly degraded into a juvenile series of firework antics. The host had ample help in other guests.

I and frau slipped away on the pretense of working tomorrow before things spiraled a bit farther.

Now, guests were having fun. It was informal. It was a backyard - becomes front yard - becomes in the street type of deal with no more serious consequence than some debris raining down on seated guests in the back (a few bottle rocket sticks). Nothing untoward.

Just awkward.  The group had split and the promise of pie and ice cream evaporated into swathes of sulfur smoke. It is the 4th of July.

I came for a potluck of the loafer, wine glass, and conversation sect. It became a sandal, PBR, and "watch this" sect. Nothing wrong with the fun - just a disconnect.

Now I am thinking. I have a character who is a priest deep into middle age and who has comes to a rural environment. He's a man of a type of faith. He is not a local but he's not an outsider, either. There do have to be elements of the social disconnect in his world.

With those disconnects, there also comes a recognition of loneliness. Being out of place can bring waves of loneliness. I need that emotional depth in some of my character's encounters.

I need to think a bit on how that loneliness manifests itself in someone who desires to be a part of the community but for whom the term "community" is not reflected in his reality.

Of course, there is the progression of lonely housewives which we see culminated in one who is occasionally possessed. Always a dilemma, possession.

Sleep tight and know you are among friends.