He who is without a spark

I find myself not wanting to interact with other humans at all anymore. I’ve spent about thirty-six years trying to fit in and have people like me. It hasn’t worked yet. 

I find there is anger or general resentment from others when I try to interact. Women usually seem to wrongly assume I want something from them when I speak to them, men usually don’t share the same interests as me and there seems to be a disconnect with nothing to share. So I tend to stay to myself lately.

On top of that, with the recent backward slide of civilization, almost half the population supporting hate and assholism, possibly because of the size of their hippocampus (more study is needed) I don’t want to befriend them. 

Then there are those who share popular mass delusions, where there is no common frame of reference for reality. 

As far as relationships go, I think I’m over ever trying to find someone. After a few years of not being constantly in trouble for being myself, I don’t think I could ever go back to that. 

All this and more combined makes me just want to stay at home.

I think I’m a good person with a lot to share and a lot of life left in me, but I fear with the exception of a few memories in adult Serenity’s mind, there will be no record or affect of me existing. 

It’s not what eight-year-old Albie had planned for his future, but he kind of knew inside the mental wormhole connecting that time a girl wouldn’t dance with him at his first boy/girl party and the same situation on his honeymoon cruise. 

There’s just something about me people don’t like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The question is Now what? How do I spend the next thirty years? 

I have absolutely no idea. 

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