Lifting Fog

So I’ve already hit a blogging wall. To buy myself some time, I offer this post I wrote on April 23rd, 2006:

So I’ve arrived at the home stretch. In three days 20 hours, and 50 minutes, I will no longer be a teenager. I expect this means:

a) no more acne

b) no more awkwardness

c) no more Blink-182

A and C I know will come true (really, I’m required by law to cease any and all music by Blink-182 and to a lesser extent, Good Charlotte and Dashboard Confessional… sigh), but B–I think I may be stuck with that for a while. It’s genetic. And it doesn’t go away. Most people, though, are confused as to just what the condition truly is. Awkwardness, despite what facebook.com tells us in its manifold groups and “About Me” sections, does not mean frequent tripping. Nor does it mean chronic farting, speaking loudly, or saying “OMFG inappropriate things”. It doesn’t even mean spilling a cup of coffee on yourself at Starbuck’s. What it does mean (in list form, natch) is the following:

a) changing your walking route to avoid saying hello to that person whose name you just can’t remember

b) greeting someone with a handshake when they go in for a hug; greeting someone with an unadorned hug when they want a kiss on the cheek

c) making “dead relative” jokes around (or worse, to) people who have lost a relative

d) unwanted erections

e) revealing controversial opinions to a group that doesn’t share your views

… and so much more

It’s that sense of discomfort (on both sides in a confrontational situation) that’s the dead giveaway. Eyes wandering. Hands trembling. Awkwardness is identified physically (NOT through tripping), but felt internally. Sometimes… people feign awkwardness. It’s HIP now–Seth Cohen and “The OC” dictate the message. But you can see right through the phonies. Anytime public spectacle enters into the realm of awkwardness, it’s not real. Anytime someone reflects on their actions, saying “WOW, That was soooooo awkward”… you know it actually wasn’t. For true awkwardness, ask me to e-mail you my schedule. Observing me in my natural habitat, you’ll understand exactly what it is.

Awkwardness is not transitory–it’s a condition. It’s a mindset. Certainly it may lessen with time… but it never goes away. So on Thursday, at 4:30 PM, I expect to lose all my acne. And my iPod, playing “What’s My Age Again?”, to suddenly skip to a more sensitive, adult Coldplay song. But awkwardness? That plague, that loathsome illness? I might not trip at 4:30 (and really, almost all tripping is avoidable), but I’ll probably be acutely uncomfortable wherever I am. UNTIL I’M 21 AND I CAN DRINK WHENEVER AND WHEREVER I WANT.

Tags: Emo, Seth Cohen

This entry was posted on May 13, 2008 at 2:49 pm and is filed under Bildungsroman. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.