I'm bored of all that large press/small press mainstream/underground gubbins. You're either good or you aren't. The only place worth belonging is in the arms of your loved ones anyway, however sentimental that sounds.
I've never fitted in anywhere intellectually or creatively, from school days right up to these days. I used to wish I did, and tried frequently to insinuate myself into this or that group, usually failing miserably, but now at last, staring old age, disease and death in the face, I've learned to take pride in my difference. It is, after all different. And I've found some happiness unexpectedly, by being me...People still either hate or are mystified by my writing, but you can't have it all. For some reason.
(By the way, it's a faintly comical exaggeration to say I am staring old age, disease and death in the face, in case that's not immediately clear. I am facing middle age, illness and morning torpor in the face really.)