But anyway, please please PLEASE don't read any farther, unless you want to read the pitiful whinings of just another silly depressed 22 year old. It is common knowledge that that is a bad age, after all. I'm far from my occasionally goofy self tonight and I just want any brave readers to be warned.

I turned off my AIM because it's silly. I am obsessive to the point that I will dream up crazy away messages that no one will read anyway. Yet, Sarah, the IM addict, just turned off the AIM. I feel like I've become a chore to talk to anyway. I simply just hate to bother people. And this is not just on IM. Even when I call people I feel like I must be boring them to tears. I'm in no way placing blame on anyone. Not anymore. It's useless. I always whine about what I could have possibly done to become so forgotten. It doesn't matter really. Life moves on, and it has passed me by. I accept that now.

I'll accept being alone. I don't want to bother anyone. I'm always a chore, an inconvenience, a bother, to everyone. Of course, and this always pains me to admit, I have no license. That's right, I'm 22 and I don't drive. There's no good reason why. It's just never been a priority for anyone to teach me to drive. My dad rationalized that since he had to drive in to work everyday, why don't I just live at home and he could drive me in to campus everyday, which is a few minutes from his office. People at school occasionally wondered at his seeming generosity in doing this. In turn, I wondered why he really wanted to wait hours for me to get out of band practice, finally to get home fourteen hours after leaving the house in the morning, when I would have been happy to drive myself home, had I had the means. I discovered that the bus ran from town to town, so sometimes I'd take the bus just to get home a little earlier. I'd find myself downtown waiting to transfer buses, staring at toothless old hags and being hit on more than once by countless scumbags, and feeling so alone and empty and useless. At first I was excited to take the bus, because it was my only means of self-transportation. That quickly faded. Even now I have to take the bus to the stupid little mall to work. I don't know how many of my community college-aged coworkers have said they've seen me out walking, and remarked that I must really like to walk. When, in reality, I'm usually walking to catch the bus to the stupid mall to a wretched job that, as sad as this sounds, is the only thing keeping me going right now.

I guess what I crave more than anything is the past, and everything good that is now irrevocably gone. Even the few pearls of fun days this summer. I'd take the entire miserable season back in a heartbeat if I could have those days back too. I once felt like I was on the periphery of a thousand wonderful things, and I at least had a good view to watch them. I was there to gladly soak up errant rays of sunshine if they chose to pass my way. Now I'm simply off alone in the cold, light-years away from the sun. And I feel cold and shriveled up and boring and annoying and old and empty and useless. And perhaps I revel in that. I could have gone out tonight. That's right. I could have gone out with people from work tonight. Granted going out to the bars is not a usual (or desired) activity of mine, but it is still going out, which I've been wanting to do (and whining about) on a Friday night for months and months. I've gotten offers to hang out with work people before and I keep refusing, maybe because I'm still clinging to the past. I'm still firmly esconced "in my shell" and I push people away, who are just trying to be nice. My problem is, I don't want nice. I want someone to care. But it doesn't matter, because simply no one does, save my sister. And perhaps my cat. But one is hundreds of miles away, and the other is still just a cat.

So I think I've resigned myself to being alone. I realize now that life moves on and I don't, through lack of means or miserable shyness or whatever. That's fine. I can thoroughly entertain myself by going to the good mall alone. I can easily go to a movie by myself. The attendance at concert series in this silly town is comprised mainly of old people and myself. I can walk to the library and get books to occupy my time. My CD buying of the past months has become an insufferable habit. I bury myself in books and the wrong kind of music. My flute playing is greatly eroding but it doesn't matter, as I have no one to either encourage or discourage me anymore. I'll either stay here come January and suck it up and work at Sears, or I'll go to my moms and try to remember anything I know about the flute, to perhaps teach lessons through the music shop down there. Maybe I'll find some unknown inner motivation and be courageous and go to school in January, like I was ultimately supposed to this August. But it will all be the same if that turns into next August instead. That university will hardly notice if I'm not there anyway. It doesn't really matter.

Believe me, I know I have absolutely no right to complain or be depressed in any way. To call my problems "problems", as insurmountable as they seem to me, is indeed like calling a molehill a mountain. I bring everything upon myself, I know. I was bound to crack sometime. Just as I began to be terrifyingly shy in the first place- I'd always imagine people whispering around me were talking about me. This led to my poor little mind twisting everything around. It's hard for me to find even compliments free of some ulterior motive. Again, I have no use for people who are "just being nice". But I am surrounded by nice people. The fact that I feel invisible and alone among them is my own stupid fault. Just like everything else is. Every little stupid thing. Asking some of the most basic of questions which come easy to middle schoolers is something I've never been able to do. Perhaps it is easy to just up and become a different person. To walk out of your shell. To ask stupid questions. To feel interesting and not annoying and loved and useful. That I don't take the effort to become any of those things is my own fault, and I accept that readily. I'll sit here and pine over the past, when I at least had an outside view of sunshine and fun, and could forget what I was and wasn't for just a little while.

I feel a great deal better now that this rant is off my chest. I deeply apologize to anyone who actually read all of it. So now I'm going to go to bed, and accept that the only things I'm going to do on this unwanted four day vacation from work, will be done by myself. I will stick my nose in a book and play the part of the lonely bookworm.

That is something I can do. Goodnight.

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