The Doubtful Existence of a Girl with No Life

Its 9:18pm and i don't know what I'm doing with my life. Im not sure if this is some quarter-life crisis or if I'm just being a ridiculous fifteen year old dramatic high school loner. 
       I look at the clock again, whats the point? It doesn't even say the right time. Its an hour and eleven minutes ahead. I haven't bothered to change it since daylight savings because im a cool secret spy who lives in the future. 
       I glance around my dark room, my tiki-man cup creepily staring at the wall. The christmas lights looking much sadder now, blinking rapidly. 
       The stuffed animals under my chair in the corner clinging me to the past that i am dreadfully not ever letting go of.
       What am i doing? Who am i? Why am i me and not someone else? I think I'm an adult, being a dorky genius of a girl that does college and high school at the same time, doing my own laundry, and knowing how to make myself dinner.
       I also like to think I'm different. Listening to indie rock bands that no one knows about, watching old movies that nobody likes, and being in charge of myself.
       But, in reality, I'm just a little girl who got let out of the playpen a little too early, hoping to get a head start in this big, bad world.
      Hope, what a brilliantly devastating concept. They always shout at you to have hope and hold on tight but then they turn around whispering to never get your hopes up and to let go.
       I don't get it, but then again i don't get a lot of things. Connections just don't click in my head.          So, okay, I'm going to most likely die in about sixty years. So why do i care about everything? Why do i make sure my hair looks perfect before i go out? Or why do i take 45 minutes just to pick out something to wear? I guess its just a psychological kinda thing.  
       Which brings me back to why am i me and not someone else? Why did i, of all people, get cursed with such a godforsaken sense of curiosity and doubt. Why did i get stuck with the brain that never shuts up? 
       I feel like a robot. A scared, timid, newborn robot who is being lifted off of the conveyer belt, shoved in the back of a truck, and shipped off somewhere new and strange to go do something important.
       But what? What am i going to do? Where am i going to do it? And why is it taking so damn long?
       Sometimes i wish i was seventy four with two years to live watching old reruns of some tragically hilarious show about a guy that was left at the alter by his llama or something.
       And then i wish i was 35, embarrassing my kids on their first day of school or arguing with them over why ,in the love of gods name, there is a snake under their bed.
       And sometimes, I'm just as happy with being right here, 15 and hopelessly doubting my existence. 
       But right now I'm numb. Neither happy nor sad. Completely lacking any sense of emotion, laying in bed, the teddy bear I've had since i was four tucked under my chin, and a thick book about aliens pressing into my skull from underneath my pillow.