Window A

I think i like being twenty-one going on twenty-two. It's a different sort of feeling from when it was in the teens, the age of illogical self-gratifying angst and uncertainty, pretending to be older than i really was/am, and well, basically, different. Can't really pinpoint it i suppose. because i'm still angsty, still uncertain, trying to deal with the world, and realising that my self-image is a completely warped-in-my-mind version of what people really see, grappling with the question of how much of my existence depends on what other people think about me, because it's much easier to say i don't care what people think of me and actually not caring. i still fit in uneasily with people, always occupying a neglected corner, hoping people will come over to say hi, and then not knowing how to get beyond the hi. What is the purpose of all this preoccupation with my lack of social ability skills, i wonder. Shouldn't there be a greater aim in life i should be worried about, thinking about? It would be easier to be happy unaware of how i misfit socially, how i am entirely inadequate to social interactions. my occasional inferiority complex steps in and prevents me from happily ignorantly enjoying a hedonistic existence. sigh. i am feeling existential. except it doesn't mean anything to feel existential, because it ultimately means i'm not doing any productive (again, the definition of that word is problematic) and wasting precious time on pondering the unponderable. Everything is subjective, everything is questionable, depending on where you stand. Without a solid hard core to grip on to, how do you not get lost and turned around constantly? In between all these uselessness, all i think about is what my next meal is going to be, what i'm going to wear tomorrow. there is no greater purpose.

then said, i am happy to be in my twenties. because somehow it feels like i'm slowing moving on to something else. something slightly more exciting perhaps. i'm completely illogical today, well. i am illogical most of the time, another of my annoyances at myself. the inability to see things in crystal clear logical sequence. but anyway. twenty two, with the very satisfying double slight exhalations, seems like the age when anything can happen. at the cusp of adulthood (though i suppose that that was possibly suppposed to have happened at sixteen, eighteen, or at the very most twenty one) but twenty two has the air of respectability to it, and thus somehow, to do anything at that age, regardless of "respectability" seems most exciting. though it is debatable how "exciting" anything i do could possibly be.