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I'm having a bad night.

My work schedule has been shifted for the next couple of weeks, and so I'm downtown every evening til late. The city at night is different than the city in the daytime. During the day you know people are on business, or for the most part you can at least convince yourself of that. But very few people, especially on a Friday night, come downtown for any businesslike purpose. They come to hold hands and walk down Michigan Avenue, or take their kids to see plays, or go to bars and restaurants and there is nothing in the world like walking unnoticed through all those connected, happy people to make me realize how completely, crushingly insignificant and alone I am. Even here at work, there are pictures on all the walls of people who have done something with their lives, people who have made something of themselves--won Nobel prizes or gotten books upon books published or founded entire philosophies, and here's fat little old me in a t-shirt and jeans, walking through the hallways pushing a cart filled with paper to stuff in the printers. On a Friday night, in Chicago, at 38 years old.

I found a friend online tonight. I've mentioned him here before; he's from a long time ago and he was significant in pretty much everything that went on. He's in California now; I think he's living under another name, and if his MySpace is any indication I can sorta understand why. Now, as then, he's fucking gorgeous; unlike when I knew him, though, he's got (it seems) a lot of friends. A lot, a LOT of friends. On my MySpace page, I have seven friends; he has 958. I wonder what JP would say about that.

And here's the thing: when we were in school together he and I were just alike. We were both these smart, nerdy writer kids. We both had friends, mostly the same friends: nerdy writer kids, theater kids, math kids. Of all the people I went to high school with, I would have never imagined that mine would have been the life that would turn out like this. I always thought my life would have some...you know, LIVING in it.

This is not what I wanted. This is not who I wanted to be, where I wanted to be, what I wanted to be doing.

I really don't know where to turn anymore. All the things I tell myself to make it better, they've all stopped working. It gets harder and harder to hold back the...the what? Fear, maybe--despair, somewhat--complete fucking bewilderment at the wreckage of what started out so promising? Yeah, that too. There are people in my life who would offer me an easy answer to "how did I get here?"--people like my mom, who (and this is just a tangent) has had more to do with it than anyone else, including those who she feels are responsible for screwing up my life--but although I've made mistakes, THOSE are the things I've done that have made me feel MOST like a normal human being. It's times like this, when I'm doing all the "right" things and all it does is make me numb and make me hate myself, that I start hoping there's a new mistake around the corner. At least if there's a little drama, I know I'm alive...

I wonder who I would be if I didn't have to answer to anyone but myself.