My parents keep telling me they love me. That’s odd. They used to not say that. I kind of wish they wouldn’t. I mean, I know already. But they still treat me like a kid sometimes. Now that I’m back in California, my father has warned me that he will be nagging me about my job search along with my mother. Frankly, she’s better at nagging than he is. From him, it just comes off like he doesn’t trust me. Maybe he doesn’t. He was reluctant to sign on as guarantor for my apartment. I can’t blame him for that, but I get the impression that he didn’t believe me when I told him that I was going to get a job, pay my bills and ask him for help only occasionally. But I was going to get a job, pay my bills, and ask him for help only occasionally. Even if I had done it, though, I doubt he would have had much faith in me. Parents are tricky that way.
I find that more and more these days, Facebook just depresses me. All I hear about every time I use it is how wonderful everyone else’s life is. Good for them, I guess. The problem with being in your teens and twenties is that it looks like everyone has it figured out except for you. I know they don’t. Spare me your inspirational slogans. All I know is that I spent the entire summer trying to repair my computer, find a nice job, and move to a better apartment, and failed on all three counts. I hung out with a couple of people. These days, most everyone seems to be celebrating their engagement or gushing about their wonderful new job or traveling the world and taking pictures of themselves having a wonderful time. I’m happy for them, but at the same time, I hope they all die. Don’t judge me. I can’t help it if I feel this way.
I’m not sure what else to say, really. I’m bitter. Very, very bitter. The summer flew by. If you read me regularly, you know that time actually moves slower for me the more fun I’m having. It’s been over three and-a-half years now since I started waking up with restless leg and feeling the resurgence of my hypochondria and other anxieties. That nearly destroyed my life. I’m still in the process of rebuilding it. I have so little of what I want and I’m tired of watching all my friends pull ahead of me. Don’t give me any of that “this isn’t a race” bullshit. My father was younger than I am when he married. He and my mother have been together for over 35 years. When do I get my little piece, huh? I don’t want to be exactly like either of my parents. With any luck, I’ll do a better job of staying in shape than my father did. My brother got married in his early twenties and divorced a few years later. I didn’t like his wife, but that’s not the point. Bad shit happens to me, and the people who I find most interesting don’t seem to care. They just keep living their lives, barely aware that I exist. I guess I should learn to live with that.
I never wanted a “normal” life in the sense that most people mean it. I’m not interested in having a spouse, kids, a nice car, and a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence. Some of that appeals to me, but not all of it. I don’t want to work in a cubicle all day. I’m not sure what kind of job I want, but I don’t want it to consist solely of sitting in an office. Offices are okay for a little while, but they can get pretty stifling. I’m going to move away from the heavy stuff for now. I have a lot on my plate, but the reality is that I’m probably still doing better than my roommate. Basically, all he has is a crappy job, an empty apartment, and an uncle who doesn’t seem to much care for him. I’m not a happy person, but I’m happier than that. At least I got out of that awful situation. He’ll have to keep living with it indefinitely.
I’ve been spending lots of time on YouTube lately. I don’t watch videos of cats or people getting hit in the nuts very much. I prefer vloggers. I thought about becoming one a few years before deciding that preferred the written word as a form of communication. As anyone who has ever met me will tell you, I’m a fairly engaging conversationalist. I’m often mistaken for an extrovert, which, believe me, I am not. My mother called me a “loner” once. I don’t think of myself that way. I’m available for whoever wants to hang out with me. It’s just that most people don’t. This blog doesn’t get much traffic aside from the friends who follow the links that I post on my Facebook page. I tend to overshare on this blog, but since my mother seems to think I’m closed off, I wonder if there’s a middle ground here that I’m not quite striking. I am not an attention whore and I value my privacy very highly. But as Lana Wachowski once said, everyone’s existence represents a negotiation between the private and public spheres. Where do you draw the line?
I’m going to sign off now. I’ve seen a lot of those Draw My Life things on YouTube, and I generally think they’re enlightening. I’m not going to do one myself, but they are pretty fun. Wish me luck. I still believe in the wise words of those great philosophers who said that you can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need. Or something like that.