Nah, it's not that bad. I miss my bugglyboo, but there are plenty of things here in HANNIBAL, MISSOURI to keep me busy to the point of being all worn out. This, by the way, is my favorite treatment for depression. I get up and go to school, come home and exercise for an hour, eat and go to work. When I get home from work I might do homework (ha!), read for a bit and sleep lightly to the sounds of Hannibal daredevils peeling out not far from my window. If I weren't a Christian, I'd sniper them like Tom Berenger in the movie "Sniper 2" or Tom Berenger in the movies "Sniper 3" and "Sniper".
By the way, that reminds me- why do all my Christian friends like to use that passage about Jesus whipping money-lenders to justify all kinds of violence? "I don't like this wimpy version of Jesus." they say. I recall the scene from Talladega Nights where Jesus is imagined as a baby, a mischievous badger, and a winged spirit singing lead for Lynyrd Skynyrd. It's interesting that our deities look so different from one another (even when we call them by the same name and use the same book to try and figure out what they're all about). To some people, God looks like the God of the poor and downtrodden, on the side of social justice. To others, God looks like a military general, creating hurricanes to punish the gays and whispering into George W. Bush's ear to invade Iraq. God can be a Democrat to some, a Republican to others, and a Libertarian to crazy people. My point is this- monotheists believe in one God- theirs. I'm not telling you what to do with that information. Ignoring it is probably the most practical thing.
By the way, ignoring important things is kind of how we stay not miserable. Somehow I manage have feelings other than elation and utter satisfaction even though I'm a rich white kid who can afford to do things like write for fun and pursue dreams because I don't have to work the land for 15 hours a day to not starve. In fact, sometimes I experience despair over my clearly awesome life and if I were a bit more wealthy, I'd probably pay another rich white person to try and figure out why I'm so sad when the secret might have something to do with the fact that I'm not running around in the wilderness using every iota of my homo sapien wiles to snare a wild beast and forage for berries and nuts. Seriously- we get our food out of cans and frozen bags, replace real sensory stimulation with shiny pixels flashing on all manner of flat screen and substitute real problems of survival with amateur, self-indulgent anthropological blog posts. I need to invent something that has nothing to do with words.
