Reflecting on a night's work.

Now, i cannot say i lead an entirely average teenage life. Average meaning, typical teenager stuff. And yet, i feel strangely and teenagerly angsty that i don't lead that life. which i suppose is an oxymoron since a large percent of teenage life is angst. i am a rather boring person, i've run out of stories to tell and I've already started to repeat them again and again, like the octogenarians we all picture and stereotype.

I don't 'party', or really ever have anything to do with them whatsoever. I'm not sure if its because i don't like 'parties', that's what i tell myself, but rarely am i ever invited to any, rarely do my friends have any, and those that do, do not invite me. Am I a fun person anymore? personally i don't think so. i feel as though I've already settled down and started a family, unfortunately by myself. of course this is not to say i don't do anything whatsoever, i do a lot, its just that, i look around and feel I'm not doing enough to live up to my age.

i am always willing to do anything, i set my schedule around the situations for fun, adventure, or love that may arise, much to my dismay rarely do any of these things ever happen. i don't think i take enough initiative to do anything though. today i finally took the initiative to call someone up that i've been putting off calling up -- only due to sheer fear and anxiety, mostly because she makes me quite nervous these days. but now finally i have an answer to a "why did you call me" question -- only to end up arguing with her, and winning? did i win that argument? does anyone ever win arguments? and so i laid down and felt like excrement, thinking of things i rather should have said. my mind quickly flashed though past experiences, and i concluded that i am running out of time to find out the truth behind our back-and-forth's, and its very likely i don't want to know, but i hate mysteries... i always have to know; albeit, i think i hate the truth more, but i can tell easily when someone is lying.

i read a friends poem today of a dance with death. and i thought to myself, "i wish i could dance." i don't care if that's a self-centered thought. i would totally like to dance, dammit.

I'm going hiking tomorrow with some of the last few friends who care to have me around, and whom i can still look in the eye and not get sick; and also maybe a special guest appearance of another friend whom i have no idea of their perception of me, be it great or god-awful.

With luck, tomorrow will be a good day.


UPDATE:
2:47 am August 13
It was a totally good day.



don't change that channel,

Michael Castellanos!