That's a lie.
I won't sleep.
I'm insanely bored, and I don't feel like sleeping, as tired as I am. Two nights ago I stayed up until 5, and last night I was up until 3. Granted it's summer, but I should have a decent reason for doing that, like having friends sleep over, or being out late doing something cool.
Well, I'd like to say I've been out doing cool things, but that would make me a dirty liar.
Since coming home from the blues jam Monday night, I haven't left the house, with the exception of walking my dog around the block.
Naturally, this time alone has given me time to reflect on aspects of my life, namely my childhood.
I've come to the conclusion that it sucked.
I had no grand adventures. I didn't have a wondrous, astounding, family vacation. Play-dates at my house were never more than one friend at a time (we tried two friends, but that didn't work because the friends weren't friends with each other). I also came to terms with the fact that I was a bossy little bastard.
I remember locking my friend Kathryn in my room and guarding the door because she wasn't agreeing with whatever nonsense I was spouting. Another incident recalled my friend David and I repeatedly switching between a toy guitar and drums because he wasn't starting on the right beat when we were attempting to play The Beatles' "Help" when we were six years old.
I was also a bit of a loner.
I remember being content sitting on the floor of our house in the Oakland hills pretending that the fingers on my left hand were The Beatles and my thumb was Brian Epstein, their manager. I remember meandering around the playground, singing Beatles songs to myself. I remember sitting alone, reading a book, instead of playing with my friends. Even worse, I remember choosing not to sit with my friends during lunch in first grade, choosing instead to sit with a kid named Tyler and his mom, Susie. I don't know why she was always eating lunch with him, but I remember it being nice that I had a sort of mother figure at school.
But would I do it all again?
Yes.
I would gladly go back to the days where Brian, Kevin, and I would play "Starship Troopers" on the playground at Sunday School. I would absolutely revisit the day when I went to David Hernandez's birthday party where no one could break the pinata, so David's dad climbed up on the roof and threw the candy off the roof. A large piece hit me in the head, causing me to burst into tears.
I'd definitely go back to third grade, when I met and became inseparable from Charlie. I'd go back to fourth grade, when Charlie and I became separable, and I met Tony, Blake, and Tameem.
I'd love to go back to fifth grade, when Tameem convinced me that Airwalk shoes allowed you to walk on air, and we won the free class trip to the San Francisco Zoo.
I'd revisit sixth grade, when childhood quickly faded, and my lunchtimes were spent with Tony reciting countless Family Guy episodes to me (I wouldn't actually see the show for another two years).
After that, things changed. I started liking girls. I started becoming less bossy. I became more popular, to the point where by eighth grade, the whole school knew my name. I started playing Truth or Dare and Spin the Bottle (a story for another day).
Then I moved, and my ego was shattered when I realized that popularity doesn't move with you, and that my attitude, while echoing proud in Castro Valley, just made me sound like a jackass in Alameda. My sucky-great childhood was lost forever, causing me to fix the holes in my ego with duct tape.
Here you see (or, rather, read) the portrait of a broken man. A man who had everything. Looks, fame, friends, and love.
But then the fame left, followed by the love and the looks, and soon his friends were replaced with people who use him as comic relief, rather than a point at which they would converge to watch movies or hang out.
And that's why people say I sound like an asshole.
-Jason
I'm A Loser
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