I wrinkle my nose in distaste at you.

People are so unsatisfactory.
Unreal.
Disgusting.
I'd be happy to live the rest of my life without them, but I know that I would be sad because without them, what is there to live for? I would kill myself from loneliness, but then, I'd kill myself from overreaction with humans. Can there not be some comfortable medium without being a social outcast? No, of course not. You are either completely social or wholly not.

The thing I hate is when you tire of a conversation or social group and wish to move on. But you can't just leave because it's impolite. I've tried it several times within a conversation, the results were not fabulous. I leave groups all the time because it's not quite as rude, but people still notice and people still talk about your presence not being there anymore. I know, I know, your saying "who cares what they think"... Well yes, but to live in this harsh world you must obtain decent social standards which include not leaving a social scene rudely. So you are stuck there being polite and wishing with all of your head to leave.

Then! The lame excuses that come to get out of there. I'm a horrid liar, and everyone knows when I do. So when I'm telling you awkwardly with a twitch in my eye that I have a tonnnn of homework to do. I'm lying, and I don't want to talk to you anymore.

I feel so terribly selfish and mean for my truthful views on the social life. But that is how I feel, and I feel like people are awful, wretched creatures.

Legal Drugs.

I feel on "the edge". I feel as if I am about to jump off the top of a mountain and soar through the air like an awkward bird. With a parachute, of course. The adrenaline pumping through my veins is making me skip class. I'm intensly shaking as if I have just been chased by the po-po. I can't even write, my hands are quivering so much. The girl beside me keeps looking over. She probably thinks that I am on drugs. No, I shouldn't have had so much coffee this morning, I know. But I felt as if my sleep deprived body would need an extra dose of caffeine. My heart is pattering in my chest, I feel my pulse about to burst out my body like superman. Or underdog. Any minute now, their going to burst out of me, hand in hand, whooping and hollering like they are freed from prison or something. Wow, I do believe that the whole table I am sitting at is quivering. The girl is now staring at me. I turn to her. "I'm not on drugs, I swear!" Even though I intended it to be a whisper, it came out in a shrill, girly voice. The girl turned back to her studying, doubtful, and officially weirded out. She pulls out her phone and starts texting her anti-drug friends. She's probably telling them that she's sitting next to a real, live druggy. She wants my autograph, I can feel it. I contemplate giving her my honored signature, though, undeserved, I might feel important for all of three seconds. I decide against it.

Babysitting.

I cradled the phone on my shoulder, not really listening as my sister blabbered on about her day at work. I was playing jetman on facebook like I always do, every day at 3:01 pm. Today I feel like I'm going to beat my highscore. I make the necessary "mmmmmm's" and "wow's" to make her think I was intently listening when I was actually weaving in and out of blue blocks, which were apparently more important than the old woman who didn't tip my sister. "Oh, I wanted to ask you to do me a little favor." Great. I recounted the last little favor I did for her... A road trip to Raleigh to drop off a bunch of horse stuff. Some favor, more like a huge, unpaid, job. "What's that?" I asked. "Well I was wandering if you could babysit for me on Saturday." She replied. Jetman suddenly fell from his amazing manuevering. My highscore was not broken. "Babysit?" "Yeah, yeah, she pays like 9 bucks an hour plus tips." My sister told me. Babysit? Gross. $9 an hour to be snotted, colored, and pissed on. $9 an hour to be forced to look at child nudity. $9 an hour pretending to be in a damn fairy world and watch baby einstein 4 times in a row. And you have to put that fake smile on the whole time, the kind that makes your face sore for days. And you can't do anything stupid, you can't leave the little snot alone, you have to be the best babysitter they ever had, the funnest babysitter in the world... Because you must know, the boogers always report to Mother and Father everything that happened, properly exaggerated, of course. You will either be really great, or really awful. I saw candyland and an unfair game of tag looming in my future as I sat there holding my phone, jetman dead, speechless. The only thing good about this situation is money. Am I really that horrid of a person to only babysit a child out of my greediness? Yes, I'm sure I am. If only pipsqeak's mother knew. She would cancel her plans and tell me not to come because she was "sick". But she dosn't, and I accept.

The vampire on campus.

He always wore khakis and a t shirt. The shirt was your usual Hane's White undershirt. Khakis and white shirt... Stylish yo. He always spiked the tips of his hair up with gel, like they used to do in the 90's but somehow it's still in style. New balance running shoes, grey, black, and orange were the chosen footwear. He had tic tacs in his pocket. He was so plain and simple. I'd never seen him utter a word. Classic brown leather belt. I always saw him pass on the street in my first class. My second and third classes, He was in. He had a black backpack. I'd never seen him take notes, He always just followed along in his book. Sometimes, He would studiously observe the cover of his book. He liked to look at people, always a stern look, almost scowl on his face. Today he was staring at a royal whore. A real, live whore. I imagined that he had secret problems. But he'd never get a girl. No. He didn't want one. He was too sour and distant for anyone to get close to. At least, that's what I assumed. He always rushed out of class as if a fierce fag were out to rape him. He power-walked to every class. He only had one pace and it took two of my steps to keep up with his one stride.

Today I talked to him before English class started... "Did you get the e-mail about history class?" I asked quietly. I just wanted to see if he was capable of uttering words, making sentences, acknowledging people, anything. He looked up at me, almost surprised. "No." He can. "Oh, well, apparently the proffessor had an allergic reaction and we won't have class today." I told him. Still looking at me, "Oh, thanks for letting me know." "No Problem." I turned and practically ran to my seat at the other side of the room. He could pass as a vampire. Like the ones in Twilight, but not as stunningly beautiful. His pale skin shone like one. His eyes were bright like one, his perfect body like one The way he completely introverted himself... I don't believe in vampires, but just the same, I'd like to think that he is one.

Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider

Eva, I'm sorry, but you will never have me
To me you're just some faggy girl
And I need a lover with soul power
And you ain't got no soul power

--Of Montreal

An unavoidable destiny.

So. This is what it's like to die. It's not quick as you would imagine. Whenever I thought about death, I always thought it would be quick, painful, or hopefully while I was asleep or drunk or both. But this, this was not what I was expecting. A slow, painful death. "You have 4 more months to live". "If you take this, you might be able to live another 6 months". "Wait, you should be prepared, you might only have 2 more months to live". Yeah, whatever. The truth is, they don't know how long I will live. I might be invincible and live forever, you know those crazy stories you here about people surviving horrible, deathly diseases and living another 65 years. That might be me. Or I might die tomorrow. Only God knows when I'll take my last breath. I don't really care. I don't want to be consumed with myself and my last days on the earth. I don't want to feel sorry for my poor, pitiful, skinny self. I hate it when people approach me, concern in their eyes, telling me that their sorry, they understand, if there's anything they can do for me before I... They never say the word "die". No, your not sorry, you don't care, you don't understand, and there's certainly nothing you can do for me before I DIE. They just remind me of my destiny. Their not helping any. But I suck it up and pretend to be courteous to them because I know that they don't understand. I wanted to say that they were going to die too. You don't think about how much time you have to live until the doctors tell you when your dying. If there was a death meter machine invented, and all you had to do was slide your finger in and it would read your future and tell you when you would die, you'd probably be more understanding. You might have 5 more years to live. You have 5 years to do whatever you want to, 5 years to mend the relationship with your mother. 5 years to work your ass off at your job and make pointless paychecks. Life would be different if we all knew the date of our death. The truth is, you started dying when you were born. It's only a matter of time before you take your last breath.

I could be one of those heart-warming people that decided to fulfill their bucket list when they were on their deathbed with 3 months to live. They'd do crazy things and have the media following them around till the day they died. They might even have their own "Get well soon" card in memory of them. What would I do? Go skydiving and die early from a heart attack? Go white water rafting and fall in love with the hippie raft guide that had pink toenails? Go around telling people my life's story before I die and tell them not to do bad stuff?
No thanks.
I just live my life, like any normal person would. I live my life like I always have. Go to work, school, eat, sleep. The only thing that's different is my destiny. Even though I said I didn't care, I actually do. When I'm by myself, I think about what it's like to die. I hate the pain, it never stops. You'd think that I would grow numb to it after a while, but when I grow numb to one pain, it deepens somewhere else. There's only a black hole to my future. I start to wander why I'm even still here. What's the point of living on? Why wait for something in pain, to slowly take over my life.

I feel like life is pointless. You mow the lawn, but the grass is going to grow and your going to have to do it again, and again, and again. You wash the silverware, but next time you eat, your going to have to wash it again. You get a fish, but it's just going to die and your going to have to get another one. You feed your needy body, but your stomach will be groaning in hunger in a few hours. Why? What's the purpose? Just to live? We're all going to die one day. We all just live to die. I used to make up excuses of why I live my life, what my purpose on this earth is. But that's just what I believed. We all believe something different as to what our destinies are, but are they correct? Is there really a purpose to life? Is there really a life after death?
This is the only thing that consumes my mind while I am alone.
This is my life before I die.
This is how I feel, muddled and lost, before I die.
And all that's left is to keep living my life, until I reach the end. My destiny.
Death.

The First day of my life.

I need coffee. My mind is spewing random, unneeded information through my mouth. My eyes feel as if someone has attached paper clips holding five pound weights to each eyelid. Ouch. I struggled to keep them open as I drove down an almost abandoned, wet, asphalt filled road. Starbucks loomed ahead. I cannot stoop to that level, I thought to myself. Starbucks? Oh the gore. But I must... Wait. There, there in the distance, is it?... Yes, it's a dark little coffee shop, artsy to the max, locally owned, locally run. What luck! As if I really care. Come to me poor little locally owned coffee heaven. I'm almost dead now. My heart cries for caffeine in every wrenching, blood filled pump. I might die here on the side of this empty, dark road. I might have a heart attack, not from too much caffeine as the doctor's might assume, but from too little. You've never heard that one before have you? "Yes, she died from having absolutely no caffeine in her body. What a shame, she was almost to the coffee shop." Too bad, maybe I could use that excuse to get out of class or something. "Um, yeah I need to leave class early or else I might die because I havn't had any caffeine today." America is well on it's way to becomng just that. That's when teachers will start supplying caffeine injected gum to students who need a fix. Anyways, back to my dilema, my endless journey to the place where I could find many portals that would lead me to black steaming cups of coffee. Almost there now. Ugh, no parking lot. What kind of coffee shop has no parking lot? I'm fuming now, what if I die here, what if I develop ulcers from your incompetant lack of parking spaces? If you can sue people in heaven, I'll be looking you up in God's Goldly pages you savage, you parking spaceless locally owned coffee shop owner. I parked across the street. Slamming my door I stomped across the puddle filled gravel. I tripped on the sidewalk. Did I just almost die? Oh my gosh, I need to get in there now. It seemed to take eternity for me to make it to the door. Posters covered every inch of the glass. "Come see Tickle Me Pink here. LIVE!". Yeah right. Like I would come see a band called Tickle Me Pink. Horrendous, I would never be able to live up to a decent social rank again. I would be doomed forever in the depths of tickle my pinkness. Ugh! I almost tripped again as I dragged my weak body into the shop. Ahhhh the smell of coffee engulfing my senses. I'd like to call it a spiritual high, because that's about how I feel right now, but I can't. I approached the the counter. Coffee, I say, I just need some coffee. $2.06. Rediculous! $2.06 for a cup of coffee? Fine, I'm on my deathbed, I can't believe it costs this much just to keep alive, especially in my desperate state. There's no pity here. Maybe I should've gone to Starbucks, maybe they would've give me a free Vinti Latte with a peppermint. I take my darkly decorated empty cup and stalk over to the portals of coffee. "Free Refills". Never mind, I'll pay $2.06, I love you locally owned, parking spaceless coffee shop owner. I would bow at your feet if you were here. Seriously. Black coffee. Thats how I take it. Black Black Black. Except this time, I got Caramel truffle laced coffee. The "coffee of the day". It was spectacular as I took my first sip. My heart began to pump in normalness. My eyelids began to shed a few of those five pound weights. I took a seat in one of the overstuffed red, plush chairs. For the first time, I glanced around the coffee shop, taking in every detail. It was good. Dark, with gold wallpaper and red furniture. Black lights ran around the edge of the bar. There was a huge mural over the entire ceiling. It looked like space with random beautiful, alien looking creatures swimming about in the stars. The art hanging on the walls was pretty much awesome. The owner must have been obcessed with mirrors because they were everywhere. There was a small stage for bands to play every friday night. Tuesday night for not-so-popular bands. Bands like Tickle Me Pink. The only other person was a... a... Actually, I don't even know if that is a person. What is that thing? A human I suppose. It has arms and legs. It has a face. Yes, it's a human, a male human. I was enthralled with this human thingy and I stared at it. It stared right back at me. His clothes were... Strange... He wore a huge frilly, billowing, pillow like thing over the top of his body. It was purple. The bottom of his body was covered with a bright red sunflower skirt. A skirt? Wait, it must be a female? Maybe? It's shoes were striped yellow and green rain boots. It's hair was twisted into long braids that swooped around to the back of it's head. Yes, it was a female. Her head looked like Hilda with those rediculous braids. I was still staring at her, awe stricken at her complete weirdness. She still stared back at me. How do you tell a complete stranger that they look utterly absurd? How do you tell them in an innocent manner that one should never go into public looking so... Like this. She wasn't one of those really cool girls that had great style and could pull off even the most unmatching, unstylish pieces of clothing and make it look like the next great fashion. This wasn't even close, her clothing taste was completely pooped on, hopeless. I felt sorry for her. I can't even match worth a crap myself, but I know for a fact that I'm not the only person gagging at her appearance. Her nose stuck out like a sore thumb and it did a little loopy curl back towards her mouth at the end. Like you'd see on a witch cartoon. Her fingernails were exceptionally long and had dirt underneath them. Her teeth were impossibly straight and white, but you had to look extra hard to see this fine detail because she didn't smile much. In fact, I don't think she was capable of smiling with that cold glare of hers. She was still staring at me. How dare she! It's so rude to stare at a person for this long. But I was still staring at her so I have nothing to say. She moved her arm. She took a sip of her coffee. Wow, it was like watching an alien. I sat back in my red plush chair, wishing I'd brought some popcorn with me to watch this mystical being. Her eyebrows were huge! They looked like black fuzzy caterpillers glued above her eyes. She was wearing blue lipstick, too much face tanner, and hunter green eyeshadow. Her nails were red with black tips. She had a scar on the right side of her chin. A round tattoo with some odd looking words inside peaked out from beneath her sleeve. She was still staring at me. I was beginning to feel a slight bit uncomfortable so I stood quickly to put some sugar in my coffee. She rose as well. What's she doing? I stared at her. She looked absolutely rediculous, I had to say something to her about it. I didn't know what I'd tell her, but I started by taking a few steps toward her. Just my luck, her eyes never leaving mine she took a few steps toward me as well. We closed the gap between each other and we just stood there. Staring. "What's up" I say. She just stared at me. Might as well just jump right in. "You know, I was just... I think... Uhhh..." I stuttered looking around sheepishly. She stared at me. "Hey, weirdo". We both looked toward the unsuspecting sound of the barista's voice. She looked at us in a disapproving frown. "Listen, we're closing up so why don't you quit talking to yourself and get out." My gosh. Unbelievable. The nerve. "Me?" I pointed to myself. Barista butt rolls her eyes and sighs. "Yeah, the only other damn person in here.".....Wait. What? Only... I looked at the weird-monstrosity in front of me. Talking to myself? Only other person? No... It couldn't be... I looked deep into her eyes. I winked. She winked. I smiled, she smiled. I frowned, she frowned. Only then did I realize that she was me. I was that obscene creature standing there looking like an idiot in my huge purple frilly potato sack. That was the first time I really looked at myself. The first time I told myself how rediculous I looked. The first time I realized that my life was a living hell, and my appearance well reflected it. That was the first day of my life.