Grateful

Yesterday I was mad because a girl I used to call my friend randomly shrieked her guts out at me in a very callous and unpleasant matter. Surprised? You bet. And let’s not leave alone the fact that it wasn’t a very attractive site, seeing as her eyes rolled up, making her look border-line comatose and her scowl was so that it likened her to a sorry excuse of a manatee.

            Bitter, I am not.

            The day before that, my worries consisted of having my guitar strings cramp up into inefficiency (oh, the pain) and having too much homework to be able to bask in the shameful glory of what is Vampire Diaries reruns. Don’t judge me.

            The point is, if I could make a graph of my daily worries in terms of actually being critical or mainly overly-dramatized silliness by yours truly, I think the latter would top the charts.

            Just last week I saw two guys my age digging up a trashcan and placing any valuables (whatever types of valuables you can retrieve in second-hand garbage, that is) and packing them into their bags, I’m guessing, to take home.

            You worry about getting dumped by your girlfriend, being on a diet because of some miniscule extra pounds of flesh, becoming extremely stressed because your homework overload exceeds one hour of your time, and getting upset because your new Mac wasn’t the color that you wanted.

            We humans (the lucky ones that are fortunate enough to have what we do), are not designed to feel grateful or uneasy about our repulsive, trivial, shallow ways.

            We just aren't.

            And that is just sad.