About friends at 3AM

It's 3AM. And in case you misunderstood the title, I mean talking about friends at 3AM.

Irrelevant until the audience find a connection; an abstract artist at work.

It is undeniable now, that I much prefer my school friends to my platoon mates. What can I say? What should I say? I guess I'm giving up on trying to explain away the frustration and moodiness I have in camp. Why bother I ask myself... They don't seem to bother. Or maybe they can't tell. There's nothing to it but a clash of personalities. Does pride hold me back? Yes, I think I have stooped to aloofness in such a setting. What can I do but self-preservation of my dignity? Such is a capitalist economy of pride - there will be winners and losers. A sign of weakness merely welcomes more flame and beckons further instigation.

Shall I then, just recline as usual? Back off and stay quiet. In truth, it is not my natural and happy state of being. But no, I have lost. So I will retreat. I have lost the war of bastard-ing, the war of telling jokes that are not really funny to me (when repeated so many times) but involves insulting others and is therefore funny. The war of who is the cooler kid, the less child-ish and naive. The age war. No it seems I have been herded like the rest into a segregated system of meritocracy. Not even my inclinations to the other side can permit me to blend in.

Instead I will rest. I am tired of playing the jig-saw piece. I will move back to where I know I'm content but not fulfilled. To where I'm happy but not excited. But it is far better anyway than to excuse yourself from being yourself or to pretend you enjoy the company of people you utterly despise. No matter my humane-ness, if they do not understand it.