MY LIFE - DECEMBER

Saturday, December 16, 2000

He wondered what he was doing up so early over just a CD changer not working right. He wondered if his life was just that boring, that he had nothing better to do than to sit in a service center to hear what was going to happen with the changer next. He thought about the Christmas Party later in the evening that he was going to be at that he wasn't sure he should have gone to.

He thought about the fact he was trying to get a hold of someone, but had been unsuccessful and was wondering what was going on. He was wondering why no one had been writing him back when he'd e-mail them and he wondered just what the point was of writing for a site that no one was probably reading. He wondered about these things while waiting.

He was told to come back Wednesday to have a new changer installed. He went home and went back to sleep, only to be awakened by the phone ringing. The caller ID only said "British Col Call" and whoever it was didn't leave a message like usual. No one ever leaves a message despite the answering machine. He went back to sleep and didn't get up until after 2pm.

He felt like a slob sleeping that late. He got cleaned up and checked his e-mail again. Still nothing from anyone at all. It was really starting to frustrate him and make him wonder again if the internet was worth the time and money. He shoved those thoughts aside. He was going to be at a Christmas Party and didn't need to sound like he was unhappy with things.

He stopped at the ATM on the way so he'd have a little money to get some dinner where the party was at. He looked at the new balance and could only think how pathetic it was. He wondered why he had so many bills already at a young age and wondered if he'd ever get caught up with them. In two weeks, he went from having a lot of money to having just under $30. He realized that needed to last the week as well.

We went to the restaurant for the party and realized almost everyone else had brought a loved one. He had no one like that and didn't feel like he fit in with everyone else. He sat by very quietly as everyone else talked and laughed and told stories, only occasionally answering a question or adding to one of the stories. He felt uncomfortable and wondered why he had come.

He listened to the stories about the other tech at the store he worked at, the one called Paul. He listened as they described his ineptitude, his strange ways, and how much sympathy they held for him. They talked about how negatively he openly portrayed himself, of how he almost had a girlfriend once. They talked about Paul's quirks and his strange way of overreacting to everything.

He sat quietly and listened to all this knowing that these people knew nothing of how bad things used to be. They knew nothing of his personal life, well except for Steve, of his problems and how things seemed to always go bad. He looked at them knowing that they didn't look at him with sympathy, that he gave them no reason to do so. He was always joking or working quietly. No one could ever guess how he felt at times.

He also knew that he wasn't always in this kind of mood. He knew they wouldn't know because he'd decline to talk about it. He doesn't want sympathy from anyone and never has wanted it. As long as he was accepted by those around him, he was fine, or at least gave the impression that he was fine. The world didn't need to know if he wasn't feeling that way. The world has bigger problems than his own.

He laughs with everyone during the funny moments when Jim's imitating his favorite moments from SouthPark, or when Jean's telling one of her stories. He smiles when someone's telling an uplifting story and he nods his head when someone talks about how frustrating people are. He continues to be quiet and slowly people start to ask why he's being quiet. He just angles his head and says almost nothing. He doesn't want the attention. He's just listening and observing everything that's going on. He wonders what's so funny when he says he's 20.

He eats his dinner and answers questions about how the food was with very few words. He's not the kind of person who says a lot and doesn't feel it necessary to let the room know what he's thinking. He's not unhappy at this point, but he isn't completely happy either. He continues to wonder how things would have been if he had a girlfriend that he could've brought with him. He wonders if that will ever change and starts to think again that he must be doing something wrong.

The doubt he holds over himself is extraordinary, yet it doesn't bother him because it's only a few things he doubts himself over. He knows he's more confident now than he was a few months ago and is proud of this, yet things still don't always go the way he'd hope they would. He continues to listen to everyone else talk and laugh and wonders if he should just leave. He's not inputting anything to the conversation, so what's the purpose?

He stays, then Paul shows up and he listens as Paul tries so hard to be funny. He wants to tell Paul that you can't force it and that you can't keep interrupting people with your own two cents, but he holds his tongue and let's Paul talk. He wonders why he was feeling the way he did. He has it very good compared to Paul. He at least talks to girls and has had several chances to have a girlfriend. He just blows it all the time. Paul's very rarely had that chance and it wasn't his fault that it didn't work.

He leaves with everyone else and gets into his car. He wants to get home because he has a lot on his mind, but what he's going to do once he gets home, he doesn't know or care. He just doesn't want to be out anymore. He wonders if he really does have an anxiety problem with people, but tries not to think about about that.

He gets home, talks to his mom and sisters for a moment, then goes upstairs. He goes online and finds again, no new e-mails from anyone aside from those stupid newsletters he signed up for. No one's written him back and the person he was trying to reach hasn't responded. It's been four days now and he doubts that he'll hear from her now. He's not happy thinking about that, but he's being realistic.

He then thinks about the things he's read in the forum again. The people hating each other for no reason and wonders about that again. He wonders why people do such stupid things. He tries to come up with an answer that's reasonable, but can't. He wonders why women think one guy is a fair representation of all guys and how guys do the same thing. He wonders why we get worked up over such silly issues such as what we worship.

He's again confused by the things going on in the world, but he knows there's not much he can do about it. He already knows that if he posts anything, someone will certainly post a "I hate you" kind of message and he's not up for anything like that. He reads more posts and continues to be amazed how cruel people can be. He reads the posts about guys just wanting sex (or various versions of sex) and is amazed when they can't figure out why some girls hate them. He reads the same thing from girls and wonders why such things have become so casual.

He stops thinking about that though because, quite frankly, it makes his brain hurt. Besides, it's the weekend and he doesn't need to be thinking on the weekend. He sits and wonders what he's going to write for an entry tonight and mulls over the ideas running through his head. He's not sure how much he wants to share with people or if he should write at all. He does not feel up to it, but knows that a couple people read the section regularly.

He realizes at some point he should clean his room up from all the fur and disorganization, but that's off the subject and he stops thinking about that. He also decides that at some point he needs to print out a sheet of all his usernames and passwords from all the junk he's signed up for. Why he ever signed up for so much is beyond even himself, but he did.

He thinks about how many times he's been burned by a girl in the last few years and tries to understand the reasons why. He thinks about Jacqui because he's looking at a sheet where he wrote down the confirmation numbers for an order of flowers he sent her. He still wonders why he never heard from her again before she went to Cincinnati for a month (or so he was told). He wonders what happened to the letter he sent and tries to comprehend how that fell apart.

He thinks about last fall and winter about the near relationship he had with a girl from Tri-C who stopped calling him for some reason after she started being mean to him. He still doesn't know what he did and probably never will know. He thinks about other near-relationships and tries to come up with an answer or a solution. He's certainly not that bad looking, especially since getting glasses, so he's in the dark.

He smacks himself and tells himself to stop thinking about things like that. He knows his time will come and that patience is needed. He knows something will happen, but he's starting to wonder when that will come. He wonders if he'll get over his shyness and start introducing himself to girls more often, but doubts that. His memory is still filled with scars from his childhood when he would open up his mouth. Too much bad happened from trying to say something and he doesn't want to relive those moments.

He eventually comes up with something to write, but isn't sure how it's going to turn out. See, sometimes he's creative and comes up with something cool, but most of the time he ends up deleting what he's done. He writes well, but the things he writes about don't always support that. He wishes that he could be funnier with what he wrote, but knows that he's only really funny in person. He also knows that people don't always get to see that because of his shyness. It's a flaw and he knows it.

He writes and thinks at the same time, creating a mess of ideas that don't always mesh. He wonders why he keeps forgetting to go to the store and get some pop or something before he dehydrates. He wonders if he's ever going to get his full appetite back. He hasn't been the same since he started having stomach trouble two years ago and went on medication that really didn't do a lot for him. He wonders if his metabolism will ever slow down enough for him to gain some weight and stop looking like a fucking twig.

He knows he thinks too much and realizes that he should just stop, but he can't help it. So much is running through his head and there are so many things that he wonders about. What if situations are the most common and the ones that bug him the most too. He doesn't understand this about himself, but he accepts that it's something he does.

He knows it drives others crazy too, especially when he doesn't tell them what he's thinking about. He's sorry they feel the way they feel, but some things aren't meant to be known. He wishes people would understand that about him. He's open, but only to an extent and many things are fiercely guarded, especially when he's in a bad mood.

He finishes what he's writing and wonders what's going to happen next. He knows he has tomorrow off, but he has things that need to get done. He stops what he's doing for the moment and tries to decide if his life has been worth it up until this point, but shrugs that off. He decides it's a stupid question and he already knows the answer. He has no doubt it's been worth it.

He decides it's time to go to bed and slowly gets ready. He brushes his teeth for the third time today and changes into his shorts and a t-shirt. He looks at the two cats sleeping on his bed and tries to find a way in without waking them up. He turns off the light and thinks for a few more moments.

He knows tomorrow's another day and that anything can happen. He knows that things can only get better for him, that he doesn't have to worry about his dad or about people picking on him to hurt him. The worst is behind him despite the things he thinks and says about himself.

He has a lot to live for and he knows it. He falls asleep feeling better about himself and the world around him.