You know what?
Life is pretty great.
Pretty damn great.
I feel alive.
I feel smitten.
I feel like everything's okay.
My mom doesn't accept my sexual orientation.
My dad is getting a pacemaker implanted in four days.
My dad was never a fair man to anyone.
I get paid very little for working very hard.
I worry most days for my sister's sanity despite her strong-as-bull attitude.
I'm sad I can't be friends with everyone I was friends with in the past.
I worry for my fragile health.
I am too shy for my own good.
I also need to get over grudges faster than I do (but if people didn't fuck with me in the first place this would be a moot point).
...but, despite it all, life is okay.
I am pretty damn happy.
I am pretty damn content.
I am happy with the upcoming executive cabinet thus far.
I love my friends (and especially you).
I am proud of where I work and the work that is viewable in it.
I can conquer the world (or at least bring it some great art).
I can make a name for myself (or at least get myself my own Wikipedia page).
I don't want this high to end.
I...
I...
I...
I...
I think you're pretty great.
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