And for what? More of the same?

So I started classes.
I thought it'd help me establish a routine. I thought it'd help me meet people.
And it's just like January in Chicago, except I can go into the park and hike. While that makes a huge difference, I feel a little... what's the word... ah, yes, screwed.
I had a great life established in Chicago, and, while I acknowledged that I was happy, I did not fully appreciate what having present, wonderful friends, a job, classes, and a decent and established reputation could do for a person. I was, in short, a big fish in a small-ish pond. And instead of moving to a lake, I went straight for the Pacific Ocean.
And, to quote Coldplay, I got lost. Only, thank goodness... maybe... I don't have a gun.
Classes, as it turns out, are short, sweet, and next to useless. The people I've met are all alright, but no one knows the area, so we're all at a loss as to what to do. Many seem either timid or bitchy--daunted by the competition and compelled to shut down and show off rather than open up and build camaraderie. It's like being on the Titanic. We all are going down, but some of us will get a lifeboat. And some will kill to get the lifeboat. If we'd all cooperate, I'd say one lifeboat could probably hold all of us.
Point is, I left Chicago because I was bored and because I felt out of place--the poor kid at a private college. Now I'm still poor and still bored, and, even worse I'm lonely.
To make matters worse, I honestly believed all this faith people seem to have in me. Now it feels like a lot of smoke up my ass, and I'm questioning myself constantly. I can't even open my mouth all the way, my jaw is so tense. Maybe I could cheer myself up by standing in front of the mirror and trying to yawn.
And maybe I could try and see what they said they saw. Maybe there's a revolutionary in there somewhere. And maybe not.

But damn it, the sun still shines. And thank God for that.