indignation at the sign of hope

I heard a story once. I think it was about a young boy and girl both being childhood friends, and they were both in love with each other, but they never realized it. Well, anyway, when they both turned eighteen, they finally ended up together.

In the end they died.

And had a bastard son.

On occasion I sometimes contemplate why I'm always sulking around my house with nothing to do. Well, I do have things to do like clean and do my summer reading, but I'm 17, I have no job, and obviously not enough friends to keep me occupied outside of my house. I feel envious of people sometimes; you know, the ones that sit around and brag to me about all of their close friends and sexual interactions and their boyfriends or girlfriends and all of the pretty things they have. But, no, I'm not materialistic, so I fair myself away from such fancy things that cost a lot of money. I don't need them. I have my head, which spawns stories every now and then, but why my moods are ever so sporadic I haven't the slightest clue.

I'm just envious they can go to the parties or the places and are nice looking enough to get the boy or the girl or something in between, and I keep telling myself, "college, college", but in the end, I don't think it's going to work out that way. There's something disgusting about my personality that I've yet to realize; I believe it lies among my unkept hair, sarcasm, and deep thinking. Either I scare someone away with the mop on my head, my rude comments, or the fact that I think about things further than their understanding. Or at least, because I am a teenager, I'm supposed to think of 'normal' teenage things. And musing about life and it's meaning and all of this philosophical crap I've spewed out over these past four years means nothing. Because it's weird.