I have said a lot of things. I do not remember all I have said. I am usually the first to point out these people who go back on their word, or these people who lack basic human decency--but I am also among them.
I guess, what I am trying to get out here, is I feel like an angst ridden teenager all over again. So, let's stop that Alexander. Things happen. Life goes on. Sure, some shit sucks, but life as a whole is not terrible, right? Breathing is a blessing, right? I have always said if I was not such a coward I would have offed myself years ago. That still holds true. I cannot take back the yearning for death I clung to so ferociously.
The difference, between then and now, is that I avoid suicide and what not. I want to live. I may be a coward (and I'm pretty certain I am) but that's just too easy. Living is not even that difficult. I have got a good many years to go. I have got a good many more projects to stop and start, abandon for years, give up halfway through and the like.
I'm not some indifferent, uncaring asshole. I like to think I am. That would be pretty awesome if I was as stonefaced and arrogant as I like to play. But I'm not. I used to attribute these sudden, dramatic mood shifts to some psychiatric problem deeply rooted in my biology. That's a pretty idiotic conclusion. I'm just human.
This is a fact that becomes more and more apparent with each passing day. I'm just human. Just a newly made man, still green, and still needing much. I say it a lot, but this time I mean it: It's time for me to grow up.
There's naught left for me at home. Sure, my parents are great people, well no, they are not, but they are people whom I love. Anyways, the fact is twenty years of living nearly every day with them, or at least half a year these last two, is enough. In two to three years, where will I be?
Not here, that is certain. I refuse to sit here another minute longer that I don't have to. Again, I could just get up and leave now, and truthfully, I almost did, but where would that get me? Probably doing something degrading just to get by. To walk without a plan is hopeless. I don't care what everyone says about long term plans and the focus on the day-to-day. Fuck that shit.
A pretty plan, with pretty pictures and pretty notes and little annotations and citations and some doodles and highlighting. I have spent that hour in the mirror. Those days staring into my own eyes, wasted. Forever adorned with tell-tale dark circles and nearly red, I looked into myself. I do not think I have done that in earnest in years, if ever.
What are years for one as young as me anyway? There's a long road ahead of me still, many years more to tack on. I oft wished to be dead by 35 because then I'd start looking old. I mean that, I cared that much about my outward appearance. What people thought of me. How people reacted to me. The responsibilities of being old have long frightened me, but I think I can call myself an adult now.
Not a very good one, mind you, but still a malleable little man ripe for what comes down the road.
I want my white picket fence somewhere that's green.
