I'm wondering now if I should feel self pity or if I should just laugh. My life is so melancholic it almost seems like a melodrama. Honestly, my life is being written by a horrible author. I want a remake. Why would you make me this? Half-black, diabetic, mild depression that wouldn't make someone suicidal just really pessimistic about everything. Social skills so questionable I probably would have been labeled autistic if I was five years old today, in 2009.
But then again, maybe this is just hilarious. Maybe it's amusing to pose a relatively self centered person, who asks, why am I what I am, it seems like such a strange combination, in a variety of situations that makes reality seem very much not like reality at all. Why do I keep failing? Why do I keep failing in increasingly abstract ways? Honestly. Should I be expecting something? Should I? What is it? What's going to happen next? Maybe just once you could tell me.
Or maybe I could just assume it will be something even more ridiculous. Because clearly fate's a bitch and I swear to God that even though I'm very lucky to be financially secure, relatively intelligent, and healthy enough to pass for normal, I wouldn't wish this life on anyone. It's just so terribly unfortunate in no particularly serious way.
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