I have to accept...I'm never going to be the sort of person people smile upon seeing. I'm not cute, nor is it likely I'll ever make myself over into someone who is; I'm probably going to die looking much as I look now, a saggy, paunchy, white-male-looking sack of mealy potatoes. I'm likely already closer to the end of my life than its beginning. I'm not witty in a way that excites warm feelings and fellowship. I'm not weird in a way that excites unusual interests or passions.

I'm never going to be anything but strange and grim and unsettling, the sort of person whom others habitually tell to smile more and who gets left off of party invitations. I'm never going to be happy where I'm put or comfortable either by myself or around others. I'm always going to be difficult and awkward and I'll never learn any better.