FuQue What!
Life. For most people there is some sort of meaning behind that word: "life would be nothing without her," I live to do blah blah blah," or simply "I love being alive." For me it is a meaningless concept. I doubt that I would care to greatly if I stepped off a curb tomorrow and was hit by a run away bus, unless I didn't die instantaneously and wound up a cripple for the rest of my life, that would just plain suck. I hate life but I am tentative about ending it just yet. I still cling to a tiny bit of hope that my life actually does have meaning and that I actually was placed upon this earth for some reason other than to fill some cosmic quota that the planet earth has to make or suffer some cataclysmic end for disobeying the laws of proportion. I really don't like being disappointed with my life, to be honest I kind of feel sleazy for feeling this way considering the fact that I don't live in some third world shit hole and I do get three square meals a day and have a roof over my head. I don't want to be ungrateful, but you can't help the way you feel, right?
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