I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles

Right. If I have a problem, it is just that, my fucking problem. Not yours.
The away colors appeal to me.
I smile a lot. I am learning to make the same jokes. I get the same laughs. I was telling new jokes to crickets. I guess when a farmer cleaned the crickets out of his window sill every spring; he looked forward to growing the same crops.
I am bored. Discontent. There are zero opportunities. Zero help - none taken, none given. The same as empathy.
I have strange thoughts, almost hallucinations of odd topics. Nothing violent.
I am pretty unwelcome in most places, houses, homes, bars and groups. I am the youngest looking 30 year-old I know. I am unafraid, to the point of recklessness. I am amazed.
No, I am not amazed. I am astounded. Maybe. I’m not really sure. There is a camera on ever corner. I had a 70 year-old woman tell me I was killing myself as I paid absurd money for a pack of cigarettes. There is a gate around my old high school keeping me out.
I have to laugh at it all. It is amazing. This is what we want.
I must have everything, because I get nothing.
I had a conversation with this girl once. She might have been on to something. She said something to the effect that I don’t really feel anything, I just recognize which feeling ought to be felt and fake it. She said that. I disagreed.
I had another conversation with this girl once. Well, it was more me listening to a diatribe of unimportance. She said something about how one day, I’d be sad she was leaving. She said that. I still disagree.
My mother once told me a myth that one day I’d be sorted out properly because I was decent. I only half agreed.