baby, it's bad news.

yes I know how fortunate I am. yes I know compared to a third of the world, I should be counting my lucky stars, thanking Buddha, God, what have you, for what I have. I'm not starving, I'm not handicapped, I don't wake up to the sound of machine guns and bombs going off in the distance. I don't eat twigs or bark or live on the streets scavenging for coins, food, and modest charity.

But it's just one of those days when I wish I were anybody but myself, you know?

Today, I hate being me. Tomorrow, it could be better. it could be worse. well no, it should be worse.

and you know what, will everyone stop telling me that it's okay, because, obviously, it isn't. it isn't okay, it's not going to be alright. because everything's different now. What he said yesterday has changed the future forever. you weren't there, you wouldn't know. you're not me, you wouldn't understand. so stop telling me that it's okay.

it's not okay.