You're A Mean One

Except I'm not talking to the Grinch, I'm talking to myself, or Chase, or maybe just the world around me. I just noticed that while I do not have my own name available, I feel no compulsion whatsoever to hide the names of my relatives/friends. Odd. Still. I'll leave it. Back to the point, then. I'm tired of this. Of my life, of my dwellings, of my job, of my non-existent romantic relationship, of being old already and not quite ready for it. I will be twenty-three in a little over a month. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I haven't even realised that I'm twenty-one yet!
I am tired of people who do drugs and think that you're the one who is intolerant. Why are you intolerant of my need to be free of your glazed eyes, horrid smell, and depleted brain activity? I want to ask them. I am tired of people who think they know what is best for you when actually all they really know is what's best for them and how you can help them accomplish it. I am tired of bad tippers. I am tired of persons telling me with increasing frequency that I am either too nice or a complete bitch (note: persons mentioned never say both, it is either/or). I am tired of people who do not spend eighteen hours a day with two people who cannot talk, especially the people who do not do this and then commence telling me how tired they are. I want to poke my finger in the eye of all of these people.
Mostly, I am tired of my own bitching and complaining, but still have not found anything else to do. I have looked at degrees and colleges and career diplomas and Pell Grants. I have looked at jobs to apply for and places to move to. I want out. I want someone to rescue me. I know that I could, and very well should, be doing this on my own, digging myself out of this black pit of despair, as I like to call it, this utter slothiness, if that is in fact a word. But I don't, don't, do not want to. I want someone to do it for me! I'll admit that freely! I want to have a shining white knight ride up on a steed, or even a bicycle, we can't be too picky these days, and say "Hello. I would like to take care of all your problems for you, and please, won't you spend the rest of your life reading on the couch while eating glorious foodstuffs that will never make you gain an ounce while I watch you adoringly? Oh, and I'll pay for everything." Yes, it's a damn fantasy, but so what, it's mine, and if I want to be selfish here, where no one can see me, where only the virtual world is looking, and I don't even think many are, then who cares! It's my mind, and I will spill forth onto this screen, as it were, whatever I feel at that particular moment.
I don't know why I'm being defensive, perhaps it's the way my modem is blinking at me. Subordinately.