Artificial angst

What can I say? I'm still a teen, it is my right to assume the "woe-is-me" mentality and broadcast it to an audience of empty seats in cyberspace.The fact is, he is not the problem anymore. Not really. I don't like him anymore, and I certainly am nowhere near loving him. Nor do I hate him. He doesn't really annoy me. Only the situation annoys me. I want to disconnect myself from the whole scenario, like I've disconnected myself from him. Maybe now he'll take the hint. Maybe now he'll leave me alone.

Honestly, I want to think that I'm beyond the point where I can be fucked up by a guy. But the fact of the matter is that I'm not. Not by a long shot. I like to think of myself as jaded and tough and indifferent. I would love to be able to pull a High Fidelity and say "we're too old to make each other miserable", and that "if you really wanted to mess me up, you should have got to me earlier," because "unhappiness really meant something back then. Now it's just a drag, like a cold or having no money."

But I am far too young for that kind of cynicism, and I put too much into everything that I do for any type of failure to be just a drag. I'm more East of Eden; "His mind plunged like a colt in a happy pasture, and when later the world put up fences he plunged against the wire, and when the final stockade surrounded him, he plunged right through it and out. And as he was capable of great joy, so did he harbor huge sorrow, so that when his dog died the world ended." I've said it before. If I invest my time in something, I invest it whole-heartedly. I'll probably never be able to be High Fidelity, even if I am still single when I'm thirty.

I'd even settle for being more along the lines of The Great Gatsby, to be one of the"careless people" who "smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into...their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made". But I am far too romantic and altruistic to smash up anyone. I'm the one who is smashed up, or left to clean up the mess, or both.

Maybe this right here is why I am the way I am; what normal ninteen-year-old compares her philosophies on and reactions to love in terms of her high school AP literature? I mean, the TV in the room is on Comedy Central and there are two guys--both several years my seniors--entertaining themselves (and supposedly, the viewers) by trying to outdo each other in terms of excessive flatulence. Has society really spiraled down this far, to where literature is weird and fart jokes are entertainment?

It deserves to be mentioned that since waking up at 9 am on Tuesday morning, I have had approximately three hours of sleep, most of which were interrupted by my roommate turning on the overhead lights, using the microwave (which is directly beside my head when I'm sleeping), and talking on the phone. So needless to say, I am beyond the stage of exhuastion and have entered the realm of zombie. I really don't know why I'm not more tired, but I'm not, and I can't stop thinking. About everything.

I almost got quite personal, but I deleted the whole paragraph before the thought process became too developed. My language in this blog may be a bit coarser than what can be considered entirely professional, but I would like to try to keep the content somewhat detached and observational instead of descriptive and emotional. If the content is kept as merely speculation and observation, I can at least attribute the language to style and not emotion.