It's All Bullshit, Y'know.

It's 2:44 a.m. as I type this, and I'm tired. So, if I begin to ramble or repeat myself... it's 'cause it's that time o' the morning. But, as I lay in my bed in the dark, tossing and turning, trying to will the insomnia away, I do what I always do: I thought.

I pondered, I considered, I examined, and I realized.

I pondered on the fact that it's been days since I've had contact, real contact, with any of the few friends I have left. I haven't seen them in more than passing, or spent time with them, talked with them, simply hung out with them.

I considered the fact that, until earlier today, I hadn't really made any attempt to contact them.

I examined my life, examined where I've been, and the path that led me to the point in life I am at.

And, finally, I realized, though not for the first time, that I am going nowhere. A new realization, though, is that I'm coming to accept this as fact. I'm coming to terms, and almost becoming content, with fading to oblivion. With disappearing. With ceasing. Now, this might be passed off as teenage-angst bullshit, as my particular age-group is so fond of doing with anything remotely melancholy or depressing, and rightfully so in numerous instances as so many of my particular age-group feel the need to embrace such ridiculously popular motifs as depression and sadness, and instill their own lives with false, fabricated angst.

But, let's examine the word angst, shall we? Because, in my short life thus far, I've noticed that America likes to take a word and use it relentlessly. I speak not of just the media, but of the populace itself. In this case, teenagers, my generation, and the constant desire to write everything off as angsty bullshit.

But, do you know what the word "angst" means? What do you think of when you hear the word "angst"? Does it conjure up images of over-privileged suburban white kids imitating their favorite, simplistic pop-punk bands? Writing terrible lyrics and bad poetry about how awful their life is because mommy and daddy wouldn't buy them a new video game system? Not what "angst" means.

Okay, then, how about the image of yet another over-privileged suburban white kid, but this one happens to be a blogger? Someone who rambles on and on with pretentious bullshit, pretending life is horrible? Someone starving for more and more attention, not for lack of, but because they enjoy it? An attention-whore, if you will? Yet again, not what "angst" means.

Webster's definition of "angst" is simple and direct: anxiety. And anxiety, for those unsure, is a "disturbance of mind regarding some uncertain event". In a word, worry. In that regard, and no other, this is a web log post rife with angst for what the future holds; rampant with anxiety over what is going to happen to me; permeated with ubiquitous worry.


Of course, I might just be pulling bullshit, and an extensive vocabulary, out of my ass in an attempt to ward off boredom. Either way, I've put time into organizing my thoughts, somewhat, so as to share them. It is currently 3:17 as I type these words.