My Uncle Mike, easily one of my favorite relatives and definitely my favorite uncle, has shun commitment his entire life. He's had as many girlfriends as attempts have him married. Yet he refuses to do so. He's happy. He has no one nagging him to mow the lawn, no one nagging him not to jump out of airplanes, no one nagging him to drive them to soccer or baseball or field hockey. He's independent, not tied down, and absolutely ridiculously happy. I'm steadily and truly beginning to think that that sort of life is what's in store for me. He thrives on being alone, why couldn't I? Just like people with children and soccer mom mini-vans there are also a need for people who bungee jump and spoil the shit out of their nieces and nephews. To a certain extent I'm giving love a good hard slap in it's unrealistic and quite unfair face, but then again I'm not. I've done this before this whole defiant stand against something you truly want and live for just to know that eventually something or someone, whether it's I or someone else, will open your eyes to this irrelevant theory once again. It's horrifically cyclical as simple as recycling aluminum or Bush's dumb face on the cover of Newsday. To continue the trend of cyclical trends, I'm once again sick of it all, I'm thoroughly frustrated with everything. Where's my princess tiger befriending Jafar bashing girl, like Jazmine? Honestly I have no idea plus she probably doesn't exist. What makes me so unattractive compared to everyone else? I think it's because I'm different and I treat you like gold, again continuing the cycle. Maturity is such a funny thing really. You think you've got it and then you overreact to everything like myself, or you refuse to listen to things you don't want to hear but should, want to fix others before you fix yourself, and so forth. With my luck and yours, you'll mature and realize I'm the one para tu and it will be too late; my biggest fear but alas must likely what to happen. We have no matter of luck at all. Fickleness is Maturity's ugly spoiled bitch of a nephew. I think life couldn't be any more frustrating for any single person than myself, but low and behold that is the most ridiculous concept this side of Romeo and Juliet. I'm so anxious, so frustrated, so pissed off, so angry, so infuriated, so disgusting, so pathetic, lame, ugly, and a million and one plus infinity things that every other probably bi-polar, self loathing, teenager with no confidence or self esteem feels. What makes me so different? What do I want to do with my life? Why do I procrastinate my life away? I have no motivation for anything. I'm a heap of useless life. I live my life day by day doing what I deem insignificant and pointless. I just want so much more. I want acceptance and a purpose. What do I really want though?
I partially blame my dad for how I am, as juvenile as that sounds. He even told me that I'm just like him romantically and emotionally; a total jaw dropping awakening for me since I always thought I was him physically ( tall, skinny, obnoxious limbs, digustingly hairy, predominantly ugly yanno all that I love about myself ) and my mom mentally. It's a tug-of-war battle. Here you decide: good guy, in touch with emotions, feminine or asshole, neglectful, masculine. You choose, have fun with that. Life is fucking bullshit and is extremely homosexual. We are just minions and puppets, like chickens with their heads cut off, we're just constantly looking for something to do with nothing even close to satisfying or rewarding emerging. There should be no fear in heaven or hell; life is purgatory and either would be welcomed, at least by me.