I am so damn tired of people and their depression. Tonight I'm thinking about those people who are so self-involved that they have nothing better to do but think too much, worry too much, and dwell on all things about... you got it:
themselves.
I do have some specific people in mind but won't bother to mention names. I can look back on my life and realize that I, too, had spent a good deal of time doing the same thing - wondering why my mother never called, or why this person said this or that person said that. Whyyyyyyy blah blah blah. I find it quite comical now, but that is only after evolving into this other person who (of course) has cancer... the larger-than-life, horrifying Big C death threat. I can say now that I don't know where I begin and where the cancer ends. Oh yes, it all sounds so cliche, but nevertheless one does change with this sort of horror.
I would rather live three and a half more years, be cremated, hang out on a mantle in a cloissonne urn with this perspective than living another thirty years as the self-absorbed downer that I used to be. People tell me, oh Sal, you have such a great attitude. What the heck do I have to be sad about? I'm not hungry, homeless, abused, or neglected. Am I living the middle-class dream? You betcha.
What does that mean, really? Unlike rich people or wannbe rich people, I am truly satisfied with what I have.
Give me a blue sky, a nice cup-a-joe and no bullshit and I'm in hog heaven.
That's a gift.
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