He feels sick a lot, the mentality is probably the diagnosis. He still wants a second opinion, plus a 400 dollar bill.
Confusion lets him know that things can't always be the right way. She hides clues that would direct him to ask questions, he declines. He knows what should be happening and he knows that it's up to him to be the provider of moving along. She doesn't open up like he does to her. His mindset is foggy, what does he need to do too say he likes her and means it?
The novels he reads won't get him anywhere. It won't prepare him for the new world. Who needs to make soap, who needs to help the walking dead that is this society? Among all the burning questions, he refuses to answer anything not directly related to him. What a prick. He's careful with his words around careful people. Trying not to blurt all the same things everyone has heard many a time before. The conclusion to all of this is that he likes being in the wrong places when he most needs to be alone. Scratching a little bit of the surface just dulls the fingernails, it does nothing for the situation at hand. He realizes this, but it hasn't stopped him yet. The gentle rotation he marks doesn't seem so bad anymore. The time that he takes everyday to complain and to nullify anything that could be going right surpasses all of the days expectations. A light twisting wildy towards every which direction but his way home. He loves the sound of her voice, the smell of her body, and the warmth of her soft touch. But will he ever tell her that? He has neither the heart nor the courage. If you see him on the streets, congratulate him on his half-ass accomplishments and his inability to comprehend adult situations run by the mind of a seventeen year old. He will appreciate the concern, or the pretend concern. Will it make him love more of the people who would gladly love him back, hardly. Forget about what he has to say, it's jibberish and means no more to you than it does to him. He's lost his stability and it shows.