I don’t mean to boast.
But I’m a fairly intelligent person.
I honestly hate saying that. Even the thought of it makes me feel like I’m acting superior in some way. And the way I talk when I’m writing frustrates me at times, because I get the feeling that I sound like I’m trying too hard to sound smart when it’s really just the way my thoughts present themselves. I see this as a problem, particularly in the area of my social skills.
I was never terribly good with people. They make me uncomfortable, as I do to them, I’m sure. I’m awkward and quiet, and often find myself making references that I think are funny but nobody else understands, which in turn requires me to explain what I meant and makes me look like an egotistical douchebag. I don’t like that. I don’t like most of what I do in my daily life.
Take arguments, for instance. Specifically, ones I’m not directly involved in. I can see both sides clearly, learn about each viewpoint in mere minutes, and I can completely understand exactly why each person feels the way they do. This in turn makes me reluctant to take a side, instead opting for some lame excuse along the lines of “well, I see where they’re coming from, too.” It’s nothing short of a cop-out when I think about it. This attitude is often met with hostility from the conflicting parties. There is no middle ground. There is no agreeable solution that is beneficial to both parties no matter what I say, think, or do. There is only “I’m right, you’re wrong” and I always feel like the wrong one, no matter what.
It’s not my intention to avoid taking a stand. I simply refuse to accept that my opinion is ever irrefutably right. Instead, I choose to look at things from other people’s perspectives, and like I said, I’m very good at it, to the point where my concession is one of frustration and anger. On the occasions I say “I get that, but this is what they’re saying and it kind of makes sense,” I am instantly cast in the role of the villain.
This sounds much more dramatic than it actually is. I just have a lot on my mind. It’s been a long time since I had…you know, I’m not even sure what I’m missing. I just know I’m missing something.
As (I think) I’ve mentioned in previous posts, this sudden move to Georgia has been difficult at times. I spent a little over 26 years in Pittsburgh and only made a handful of real friends; I can probably count them on one hand. Now I’m starting all over again. Which was the idea, granted. I wanted a fresh start, something new, somewhere I hadn’t been before. I stand by that decision, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have regrets. I gave up everything I’d worked toward for over two decades just to go somewhere new. It feels selfish. And now I have a whopping two friends in a 700 mile radius. Granted, they’re great people, but the life I’m living now is almost the exact opposite from back home. Before I left, I was working 50-60 hours a week, if not more. I went to the bar almost every night after work. Not to get drunk, mind you, but just to relax and hang out with people I knew, maybe shoot some pool or play a game of darts. Hell, I even played a game of Scrabble on the bar one day when someone got me the board game for my birthday.
But now I work from home. I never leave, except to go to Walmart, which is only right across the street. I have plenty of time for video games, which is something I enjoy immensely and hadn’t been able to do for a long time. I have all the time I need to write, read, draw, or do whatever I want. But I’m disinterested. I miss going to the Pig with my friends and bullshitting with the bartenders and the owner. I miss my mom’s dogs and superb home-cooked meals. I miss going to Pirates games with my dad. I miss having to walk down the street to my brother’s when I felt like shaving my head. I miss hanging out with RJ and doing absolutely nothing, but still loving every second of it. I miss Peaches, Steve, Caleb, all of them.
I do enjoy having my best friend around again, though. And I like my overly large bedroom and fancy new furniture set. I like having my own space in which I can do anything I feel like doing, any time I want to do it (though, to be honest, I’m far too paralyzed by fear when it comes to making any sound that I don’t even like standing up and making the floorboards creak). Perhaps it’s more accurate to say I enjoy knowing that the freedom to do such things exists, even if I don’t embrace it.
It’s a shame, too. In the last six months, I’ve met three people whose company I enjoyed, but I seem to be incapable of continuing any form of relationship with them. It’s a shame, really. I’m fairly certain they would be fine with me texting or inviting them out for a beer or whatever. I don’t know why I can’t. I just can’t.
I suppose I have to face the fact that I’m getting older. There are no more parties and having friends over all the time. We’re all adults now. Growing up, moving on, supporting ourselves however we can. It just feels like I’ve allowed myself to get left behind. I’m a 26-year-old who feels like he’s 40 and never wanted to age a day past 22 (sometimes 15, depending what day you catch me on).