Perhaps people are born with skill at living, like the children of professional athletes. Perhaps I'm just the ass-end of an evolutionary tree; the rest of humanity of learning to adapt to life, and I'm the Neanderthal of the 21st Century. Obsolete, out of place. Survival of the fittest.
Perhaps I'm just doing it wrong. But then I've never known how to do it right, so who am I to judge myself? Or one of me... Whichever one I happen to be. Goddammit.
I'm probably writing this in a bad mood. But who cares? Life is a series of crimes of passion, and how better to perpetrate one than to etch it on the walls of the Internet for generations to see?
If you read this, and you are tempted to leave an inspirational message reply, don't. You're wasting your time, and a few bytes of data.
Besides, it's my own damn fault.
I feel like this all the time.
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