What's the point?
My to-do list never gets done. My interpersonal relationships never go much deeper than a "How ya doin?" and a "Good." And my roommate never stops beating me and shoving pills down my throat. (Did I mention that I never stop being an enthusiastic fan of hyperbole?)
But here's the question: Why bother?
I'm tired. And there's a list of 25 ways to kill myself just lingering on a mirror in the room.
Tonight, I pick number thirteen. Anyone know where I can get a pack of wild emus?
posted by theaveragejoeisamoron @ 8:10 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
bothering makes it worthwhile, makes it so every so often we catch those rare moments when we're perfectly content with everything. and we spend most of our time trying to get back there. it's better than the alternative. be practical: a pack of emus means a lot of nasty poop.
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