...still sits more than a little uncomfortably with me. This is in no way just an excuse for laziness and mis-scheduling on my part, such that now I have no time to work on an actual entry for today. Not entirely, anyway. (I have less than an hour to come up with something.)
As a child and as I was growing up, I barely had any friends. Now, as you might imagine, this did tend to make me rather sad at times, and even up to now when my mind alights on the subject it can get pretty melancholy. I don't think it's surprising at all for a shy, withdrawn, chubby kid to keep to himself, and at times feel horribly maladjusted and unfit for society.
I kept this all to myself as I simply sat inside my own head, firm in the conviction that even if I had someone to tell, they wouldn't really understand, anyway. Perhaps at first I drew some little consolation in this perceived unfathomableness, but soon enough I grew to think that it was my own damn fault for being somehow defective, somehow not quite as suited as the average person to the average life by
You've heard this story before, I'm sure. I found solace in the solitary pleasures of reading (and for stretches in high school and during college, of trying to write and keep up a blog), and never got close to anyone even though a part of me must have always kept yearning for this so-called friendship so thought highly of by normal society, i.e., the people who actually had it.
Now I'm a little older, a little more experienced, and I wouldn't be so quick to label myself friendless. Even if I do still feel a little socially and emotionally stunted, clueless and clumsy (oh boy, the things my clumsiness have led me into and out of, but those are stories for another time), and not at home in the world of men, more and more I'm beginning to (finally) convince myself that this isn't a hopeless state of affairs: I'm young, the world is big, and I have time yet to grow into the life I want to be living.
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