Bury me with it: OR, nobody knows you and nobody gives a damn

As I sit here, blaring Modest Mouse and coughing myself into oblivion, I ponder what the future will hold for me, and my friends.

I don't know if I will ever be not angry.

Did this come from my father and his father? Am I spinning my wheels? I can't help but worry that some day I'll just give up and say fuck you to everyone else in the world. That I'll stop worrying and resign myself to work and a family and merely that. That I'll someday find security and happiness in normalcy and not find it so goddammed boring.
I can tell which of my friends this will happen to. I worry about the other ones as I worry about myself. I worry that it is merely adolescent yearning that tells me that no, age will not simply dampen my spirit into nothingness.

Perhaps I am delusional for believing that I won't someday be just as clueless and stubborn and stupid as what seems to pass for maturity these days.

I worry I am delusional for believing that I am not alone. It's happened to me before. Why would it not happen again? That I am indeed wrong for hoping for more out of those around me, and perhaps stupid for expecting anything else? The worst that could happen is that this syndrome would expand to everything else- not just specific cases. That the whole world will be torn asunder before me and I'll be the only one left, standing in the middle, with only the paychecks from a lifetime of wasted work and a gun with a single bullet in it. By then I would know who is to blame. By then it would certainly be clear. But the question would inevitably form in my mind- should I kill those who are responsible or myself for giving in to them? There are no right answers.

Only time will tell. This is not meant to scare you. This is a writing exercise of the purest self-aggrandizement and is based solely on the illusion of self-importance.