My name is inconsequential and I am not an alcoholic. But I come to this bar almost every night and drink. I'm 20 but I never get carded. And when I say "drink" I mean I sip the same damn drink for hours until its warm or flat or stale. One drink over several hours. Even my little 120 lb. ass doesnt get a buzz. Still, the people I knew at home would be shocked that I was even drinking. In their minds Mother Teresa would get trashed before I ever would. Sometimes I just want to send them a postcard of me flipping them off with "I'm 20 and I'm drinking a Smirnoff, hoo hah! I'm a rebel" written on the back.

I stare at the people sitting around me in this smoky rathole excuse for a bar and even though theyre perfect strangers I know them inside and out. Since having moved, I realized that no matter where you go youll find the exact same people you knew before just inhabiting different bodies. There are really only 20 or 30 people in the entire world. All 6 billion or however the hell many people there are fit into one of these 20 or 30 archetypes. So if youre skippin town thinking youll get away from the people, dont waste the expense. Youll just find Person X 2.0.

The pack of people playing pool are My Friends 2.0. Joking, playing, and just generally laughing away their problems, at least for the time being. The guy at the end of the counter is my Cousin 2.0. He gets piss drunk every night because hes forgotten how to laugh away his issues so instead he just drinks them down. You can just tell that the lifes already gone out of his eyes and when he gets the chance hell force it out of his body too.

I wasted the expense trying to leave the people I knew, but they followed me anyways. All the people I wanted to escape 2.0.

Even though its only been 2 maybe 4 months since I came to this town I barely remember how I got here. All I can recall is that I was sick of my life back home so I decided that I'd leave. I packed my shit, dropped a cryptic letterbomb of a note saying, "Goodbye Love", bought a ticket and ran away. At the time I told myself that I wasnt running away but since then I've realized that's exactly what I did. I ran away from my family. I ran away from my friends. I even ran away from my cat....and I hope my mom or somebody is feeding it.

I ran away from boredom. I ran away from expectation. I ran away from listenin to people bitch.

I was sick of being the glue that held the pieces of everyone I knew together. I was the witness to all of their lives, or at least the little they let themselves live, and it got old. Occasionally someone I knew would ask me, "How do you do it?" How do I do what? "Live." I just do. "I wish I could do that. " Then do. "I can't". Why? "I just can't. I'm not like you. "

I ran away from all the people who I had that conversation with...which was everyone I knew. They made me into some sort of an anomaly...no circus freak. Smack between the bearded lady and the sword eater. "Come one! Come all! Come see the amazing Smirnoff drinking 20 year old girl who LIVES!!!"

I never saw what was so special about daring to dream and hope. I'd get pissed over things and I'd get over them. Big deal. I allowed myself to feel happy, genuinely happy, so what?

But no. Apparently those were bizarre concepts for people. And they put me up on some sort of pedestal because I was able to do those things.

Well, I never asked for a pedestal. I just wanted to be. Just be.

But they made me think there was something wrong with that. They made me question why am I able to "just live"? They made me think I was a circus freak. And since then I haven't been able to live day to day, moment to moment. I have to question myself. Why are you dreaming today? Why are you hopeful today? Why are you happy today? I've been starting to act just like them; wasting time bitching about wasted time.

Sitting here I send telepathic messages to them. "I hate you all. You changed me, you changed me into something I'm not: you. "

Well, here I am, drinking a warm over-priced Smirnoff because the People 2.0s here wouldn't be shocked. I'm not on a pedestal in some sorta sideshow here. Hopefully sitting here under this burnt out lamp in this sad, dirty little bar I'll start over. Maybe I'll find myself again.

Or maybe I'll take up smoking and send them a postcard of my cigarette butts.