Plain old ugly

There's no point denying the fact that Montreal, as a city, is rather ugly. I suppose I mean the downtown rather than the whole. Especially when viewed walking towards it down Avenue du Parc: probably due to all the ugly 60s and 70s (please Lord don't let them be more modern than that) brown and grey blocks, as appealing as a root canal with no anaesthetic, or a very blind, very old person's faded clothing.

*A quick detour - something I was thinking the other day...
The elderly start to walk shakily, talk shakily and frailly, and write all spiderly and shakily. They also have a tendency to wear clothes that blend into the background, so you can barely notice them unless they stand against something dramatic like the tarmac. It's as though they are already existing on some other plane, losing their physical tethers to this world. *

So, I was walking down towards the city today and was rather disappointed. I never used to find Montreal ugly, did I? Or maybe when I first moved here from England I did, in parts, then forgot because I came to love it so much. However, with my new and less friendly eyes all I seem to see are closed shops, bars and restaurants, peeling paper on boarded windows, ungainly, ugly lumps of buildings and failed opportunities. Furthermore, despite it supposedly being summer, the weather seems to be successfully failing to live up to most expectations of what this season means. Rain, rain, and more rain. Or some nice blustery wind with a bit of sun to trick you into going outside not fully equipped for what the non-committal (in anything other than disappointing you, weather-wise,) day has to spit up today.

Okay, okay. I have been here for one whole week - eeeek! Just over!! - and am probably on something of a come-down after my trip jaunting around the world; in far warmer climes, I might add. I am not really used to spending much time with others, and although I am very happy to see them, I must admit to feeling somewhat strange around my friends: just so unsure what to say...I seem to have nothing to talk about, other than the same repeated phrases about my trip which start to feel like the same old platitudes you always hear when people 'come back'.
And maybe that's the whole thing. Maybe I ... haven't. Come back, that is. Not the same as I was before.

This sounds obvious, I know. But I have changed. And people around me are still able to carry on with their lives, consuming media, making meals, communicating with friends, going to work. I feel so wholly removed from this process of life. At the same time, some people (and their lives) are really quite different, markedly so, and I am not sure how to fit in there, who I am 'supposed' to be, how I am meant to act. See, this is one of my deep issues, something I battle with on a semi-regular basis. This feeling that, a lot of the time, my persona is something of an act. I decide which role to play (or do I?) then play it out... I don't like this part of me.

Question seems to be, which parts of me DO I like? I thought I had the answer, or part of it. Now after only one week back I am not so sure.