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A Pitiful and Disgusting Display of Sniveling Self-Pity 1/16/2005 7:49:27 PM
I laid in bed last night and began to pray. I wanted to thank God for all of my blessings. I thanked him dearly for my beautiful and perfect daughter. And then I stopped. I stopped so long that I nearly fell asleep.
I couldn't give thanks for my job, I don't have one.
I couldn't give thanks for my home, I don't have one.
I couldn't give thanks for my health, it's not so good.
I couldn't give thanks for my family, they're all gone or going.
I couldn't give thanks for my relationship, it's hurtful more times than not.
I couldn't give thanks for my good fortune, for I've had none.
So I lay there and cried. I mourned for the death by suffocation of my life and all I had dreamed of. I'll probably never take a tour of castles in Scotland. I'll probably never move to Australia. Hell, I don't even have the power to move back south. And even if I did, what is left for me there? There's a good chance I'll never own the little three-bedroom home with a wrap-around porch that I've dreamed of since I was a child. I'll never write that book. Never hold my little brother's first child. Maybe I'll never be able to have more children myself. I'll never have the things I wanted. Never be treated the way I'd hoped. Never be the person I wanted to be.
