Next Phase, Please.

(Captain Obvious) :The following is pretty much a long, unorganized rant.

So this summer has been not a time of rest and relaxation, but rather confusion and aggravation; I set out in May to reinvent myself and propel into the next phase of my life but now, in July, I find myself stuck in the same weightless limbo that I’ve been floating around in for the past year or two. Little progress has been made, and I fear my life is slipping through the cracks.

World issues exacerbate my stress levels as I struggle to comprehend and asses the seemingly limitless amount of problems caused by my horrifically incompetent federal government. Between mine and the world’s problems, I find myself in a daily pitched battle to maintain my sanity.

Normally I would turn to my friends, though lately, I’ve been questioning what exactly constitutes a friend, and how do I distinguish a friend from those posing as a friend simply for the benefits of hanging out with such an unconditionally nice person (in a kick-ass apartment) such as myself. Well, I was unconditionally nice until I found out that’s a nicer way of saying “doormat”.

Speaking of friends, I’ve been trying to get this band together too but that’s also proving itself to be a monstrous headache. I’m not sure if anyone is mature enough yet to handle what it really means to be in a band. It means practicing for more than forty-five minutes when we get together, only to lose interest when some boob turns on the Xbox. It also means learning how to deal with constructive criticism without looking at me like we’re in preschool and I just smashed your Hot Wheels. I wonder if everyone would have a mental breakdown if we did actually put a CD together in the next twenty years and some reviewer trashed us. The other band members also seem to have a big problem with motivation, and it’s casting serious doubt on the entire project, to the point where I’ve considered scrapping it and doing something on my own.

My own insecurities deal heavily in these matters; the voice of self-doubt constantly chatters from the back of my head. I guess in a way the awkward obese thirteen year old I once was still lurks in my subconscious.

My mother has always called me an “old-soul”, and rightfully so, seeing as she and my Father raised me to be mature beyond my years; they have always talked to me like an adult, while still flexing their parental skills whenever I was feeling squirrely. When other children were eating glue and paper in Kindergarden, I wouldn’t even eat food that I thought had germs on it; When other kids were listening to N’Sync and the Backstreet Boys, I listened to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons as I drifted off to sleep. I grew up listening to The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, The Grateful Dead, Frank Zappa, and Jimi Hendrix (way better than less fortunate kids my age who had to listen to Journey and The Police, suckers).

Needless to say, I’m different. But if we are all beer-drinking schlubs getting wasted, itching our balls, watching baseball and getting into barfights the world wouldn’t be all that interesting now would it?

As you can tell,  my life is a little all over the place, seeing as I’m kind of soul-searching on top of my everyday headaches. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to sort this out, but I know I’ll stay true to myself and what I believe, the rest will fall in place. . . I hope.