|wNov 24, 2005|
what are you fighting for?
"You're not wearing that sweater to bed, are you?"
Judging by the voice inflection, the incredulous look, and something else to make the use of listing applicable, the correct answer is
God doesn't kill people. Guns kill people.
Right? Because if God killed people, if God controls people, if we are his pawns, then what a disgusting, sadistic little game this is.
To erase, press 7.
I'm not even sure why this is affecting me so much except that
--I lost my train of thought.
The commercial on television is telling me, If you have depression, you need to contact the Prevea Clinic. Symptoms of depression include: (What follows is a bulleted list but I don't like bulleted lists) Feelings of hopelessness, anxiety, or uselessness. Changes in sleeping habits (Not applicable). Loss of appetite or feelings of nausea. Something else I can't remember.
Today is Thanksgiving and when I stand in the crunchy driveway carrying a crock-pot and wearing my coat and gloves and scarf and hat and I look inside my sister's car and see Olivia, Dylan, and Mia in their puffy jackets and mittens and hats, chuckling and shouting and Julie yelling at them to be quiet, how can I not fall weeping to my knees in thanks for every fucking day I have, for every person I meet not matter how they drive the knife no matter how they forget or how they ignore or leave me (they always, always, always leave)?
It is times like these when the events in the lives of other people slap me in the face and I reread what I wrote in this blog of mine last week or yesterday or ten hours ago and I am disgusted that this is my life. That this selfish, ungrateful person who is never satisfied, who is always longing, always wanting, that this person is me.
And then I remembered that in four and a half hours, I have to wake up and eat and go to work somehow.
Current Music: Motorcycle Driveby - Third Eye Blindscribbled mystickeeper at 11:01 PM
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