Y'know. When I think about it, my life is pretty good. I have some of the most fantabulous friends EVER. And I have a home ( 2 bedrooms! 1 bath!). And I have a job (which is uninspiring, to say the least). And I have parents who love me. And a brother who is cool. And superfantastic relatives. And blog-readers, who I have never met in person, but who I know are the most AWESOME peoples ever. And a superfurry, always shedding psychokitty pussy for affection.
When I think about it, life is pretty damn good.
But why is it ... well, why is it that it doesn't always feel that way?
Why do I get sad? And why do I feel lonely?
Why does that happen?
Why do I think something is missing?
And what can I do to fill that missing piece?
Life. It's such a fucking pile of shit.
But, at least, I can spread the shit around, and beautiful things may grow.
Watered by my tears.