The Truth Is

I hate my hair. I should just get it shaved off, but I'm afraid my skull is warped or there is a hidden skin condition under there. But, I hate it. It sheds all over the place. Clogs up vacuums and gets stuck in doors. I want to be FURless. Instead I am fearless. Someone said that I was brave once (or twice) and I think brave can be easily confused with stupid. It matters no more. The damage is done.

I woke at three a.m. this morning. My sleep is not repaired. It is still broken. The estimate to get it fixed almost shot me to Mars. I landed on Venus, however, a massive miscalculation by system programmers and so, life is always full of either crisis or surprises and, did I mention I care for neither?

Go to HELL Big Bird. You may be cute and overly cuddly, but you lie like the Dickens. All that fuzzy education FOR WHAT? So that kids can grow up and learn to ignore the poor kids down the block...Walk right past the starving, homeless war veteran that occupies a cardboard box under the stairscape?

DAMMIT!