It's a different feeling seeing your name in an URL. Makes you feel important. Makes you feel part of
something bigger. For some sort of reason I'm envisioning myself as one of those Stalinized pigs in George
Orwell's Animal Farm. Corporate power. Ooh.

   I never thought that I was capable of holding my own website. I mean, my mother bought the name for me
(for under ten dollars, I might add). You'd think that snatching your own acre of land (your own "fief, as it were)
under the vassalage of the World Wide Web would seem more difficult. Maybe I'm just seventeen and stupid.
Or maybe I'm just in wonder of seeing my own name. Because who am I, really?

   It's been played out forever that question. It's nauseating thinking that I'm stooping to such a clichéd level,
but it's hard to ignore a happy-happy-joy-joy harping call that keeps ruminating in the back of my head
whenever I close the textbook, or turn the teevee off at one-thirty in the morning, or fold my Lion King encased
pillow over my head, ending an unhappy thought of some new nobody special. 

   (WARNING: Angst up ahead!)

   I'm a disappointment to my own self. Who am I? It's as if I am witnessing a stock character's life through a
haze. Something is shrouding me from me and someday I'm going to have to defeat this to truly endure life and all of its sentimentalities.

   I look in the mirror and don't see me. In truth, nobody sees themselves in a mirror. It's the exact opposite of
us, isn't it? We'll never look like our reflections. Really, my hair parts on my right side, but the mirror contradicts
this. It just gets more confusing from there. How do I know what I really look like? If looks really make the
person, that is... Which I sure hope it doesn't, because I don't have much bedrock to stand on, as is.

   Maybe I'm just taking a stab at getting to the bottom of this myself. I want to be the first of my generation to
truly understand the world, man. I don't like this stereotypical self-obsessed, presumptuous shell that I am
fulfilling. I feel as if I am reinventing my Self every year and the life span of every new Me is becoming shorter
and shorter. Let's hope the Self I am creating doesn't wink out on me. Extinction.

   Really, life just keeps on changing when I rather it just stay in place. When I do think of "me" I go back to the
days when I'd pretend I was a dog, cat, or domestic horse. Seems not too long ago, heh. Why do I kid myself?
It wasn't that long ago that I was collecting rug burns, chasing my sisters around, barking... Did I just cringe?

   I'm no go-getter. But hell if I ain't tryin'.

   
   (Photo not taken seriously by Allison Heistand.)