SJ SVU

As I hear my sister’s TV—most likely streaming an episode of CSI _____[insert shitty city], I focus on my very cold and empty room. It’s not important that it’s a bedroom so much as it is an empty room within the chamber in which I reside.

I must, once again, exist alone. No buddy to drink with, no man to fuck and no friend to take up room and share space. I am, and feel, alone. It’s not lonely, just different and—despite or because of the CSI echo, very quiet. I find myself regressing into that pathetic misanthrope from high school:

So be it. If that’s who I am, then I’ll take it…but I have to wonder, in the face of all this misanthropy, have I not developed at all in the last 21 years?