Coolness.

Coolness.

I wish I could be cool.

I'm so tired of letting all the small things get to my head and piss me off. I'm sick of being at the mercy of events and objects beyond my control, of having my day irreversably screwed up.

I wish I could just shrug everything off with the suave insouciance of a matinee idol. I'd just take a drag on my cigarette, cock my head back, thrust my sunglass-hidden eyes into the air and mutter, "Whatever."

I've heard people say I could be like that, a cool cat. But no, my personality had to be one of the brooding artist, an organic mishmash of nerves and uncultured reactions. Whatever potential for "coolness" I had had been squandered by my geekiness and propensity for passion.

Time after time I wonder how different my life would have been had I been born with a totally different personality suffused with superstar cool. Maybe I wouldn't have been laughed at so much. Maybe I wouldn't have been so rejected. Maybe more people would have actually liked being around me. Maybe pretty girls like Mariel Rodriguez or Nicole Hernandez wouldn't be so ashamed of hanging around with me and picking up "geek germs."

All these things are what-ifs now. To paraphrase Jean-Paul Sartre somewhat, I am doomed to be what I am: a hot-blooded and irritable squawkbox that scares people off like the smell of rotting eggs.

This is why I am grateful to have friends who seem to genuinely care about me. It takes guts to be my friend, I'll be the first to admit. Yet they're still by my side, no matter how often I let my emotions get the better of me, or no matter how crazy I can get.

They make me feel...like I'm cool.