dangerous steps on icy undertones.

Striving for perfection and poetic justice all in one.  It doesn’t work like that, does it?  But I know. 

It’s kind of strange, for once, knowing exactly what I want, but am in no way equipped to gain. 

My own social ineptitude really astonishes me.  If someone says "hello" passing me in the street, what should I do?  Is it wrong that I consider punching them in the face to be a viable option?  Is it strange that I avoid eye contact so that I don’t have to try and figure out what to do if someone DOES say hello?  I am not afraid of these people, for they pose no threat to me.  I just don’t want to be bothered to think of the socially acceptable response.  I don’t care, and I don’t want to connect with them in any way.  Social phobia?  I don’t think so.  Just a disdain for all things human.

And always, the eternal fight between knowing I’m better than them and knowing I’m not.