That random age..

Soon, very soon, I wi.ll turn 17, which does not faze me too much beyond the fact that it is the first age I have hit wherein NO ONE you meet is quite it- sort of like 22 or 32. Due to my nature, I think that this should not be so- I should romanticize the passing of time and bemoan my mortality (prematurely, perhaps). But this year has been one with very little effort or time put into it; therefore, it has yielded me little favorable results in my life and further increased my isolation. (One good effect of that is: I no longer moan in public internet spaces, such as this one, over my relative or complete loneliness or insignificance, for I have had to learn to stomached both).

In fact, from this point onward, I shall increase my level of openness, for I have been forgotten nearly in complete. Very few of the people I know will occasion to read this, so I am safe to speak of the effect of conversations, encounters, and other such thing with the other 99% of people who inspire me to feel.

I will begin with a morning visit today I received from my oldest friend who, out of the awkward clash of all we are and have been and wished to be and will be, I am still hesitant to name as "friend," (not out of malice or lack of want). I am happy that she still comes to visit me- still suffers to speak with me- and I swear I've had to purge myself of most of the tendencies that caused, initially, our demise. Yet whenever I am around her the future turns to haze and the past, which I have long loved, is revealed as a parasite to the present. She and I reminisce and all I can thing about afterwards is

1. How I've been rudely awakened to the dark side of my nostalgia;
2. How things just are not the same for anyone, including me;
3. How the future, ironically, turned out just as I feared even though I learned, a bit, to be a better person; and
4. How I just can't muster the creativity or "fun" to make any new memories or inspire anyone to want me around.

I want friends still. In fact, even with all the changes we've both, respectively, undergone, I'd still love to have my friend as a "best friend." But such a thing is no longer something guaranteed nor something I deserve or can truly live up to.

My party is soon. I wish things would blow my mind and be as they used to be: everyone getting along and breaking down all those petty barriers we'd all erected about ourselves; everyone finding out that ____ wasn't so bad and really quite cool to know. But I don't think so. I think it might just be better for my ego if I were to forgo a party and cut my losses without facing reality: no one, except my boyfriend, knows me too well anymore... And even he has no real reason for enjoying my company. I am no longer any fun, really: I am both adult-dull (which I don't find to be dull!) and scared to death of sin, judging others, being hypocritical, and a host of other things...

I don't know how to operate very well any longer. Even in my depression and hatred, I think I was easier company, if more judgmental and cruel at times.