You know those days where you prep yourself up and talk up just how great the day is going to be, planning all of your interactions and reactions, weighing each witty response to each new wittier response and tumbling over them again and again to predict which one will have the better more laugh-inspired affect, only to have everything turn a complete 180 the moment you engage in your encounters and everything quickly falls apart? (not-so-epic runon sentence is not-so-epic) That's been today so far.
What should have been a simple, "Hi. How goes it? Oh great! Well, I have some good new myself and this is why this is a WONDERFUL day!" actually played out as, "Hi! Oh shit. I think I'm having a nervous breakdown compounded with a midlife crisis. Urm, please excuse me before I go emo-overlord and overload this moment with 34 years of what-the-fuckery."
It .... really sucked, to put it bluntly. And after the encounter was over, I was left deep in my head, in that "safe place" where I am no longer the body with a mind, but isolated as the mind observing this aging body that still perceives itself as anything but the adult that apparently forgot to be grown into. In relation to everyone else in the world, this body still sees itself trapped in the endless days of highschool where other adults were frightening and potentially full of wisdom yet were always of that definite something that these others earned through the struggles of their lives and now that skin of "adult" as if they were born into it, naturally and without question. And here this body is wondering why 34 is such a decrepit and lethargically obtuse form of the still adolescent self, and why it never found that way of being able to shape itself into the same "adultness" of those others around it.
There have been a very VERY few moments recently where I could look at myself in a awe-inspiring sense of pride at the very self-image of what as been the most "adult" version of myself. And "awe-inspiring" isn't an exaggeration here, I was so infatuated with the fact that I was able to see myself in this uncharacteristic way that I had to hunt down a friend and force him to listen to me brag about it so I could feel what it was like to gloat about one's own image issues. But outside of that, this ever-present "me" has always been that same kid that hit the streets at 15 and became trapped as a one man army against a world that always too busy with itself to ever bother with even noticing that something or someone was poking at it and trying to understand why it seemed so .... like it has a cold. I guess it's this indifference that has allowed me to also become indifferent to myself and my own self-reflection when it comes to ever seeing myself as more than I did when I was 15. Granted, I hold myself to higher morals and don't do any of the more random outbursts for attention like I used to, but the way I see it is like I'm still that 15 year old, slowly figuring out how to accept being 15.
Bah.
