I’m lying in my warm, comfortable, queen-sized bed, crying. CRYING about my stupid heartbreak that re-emerges every week or so. I even thought, if I had any wish, it would be to get my love back.
That was the tears talking. I swear to jeebs.
I am such a giant ingrate.
I click on my Yahoo page and see that more than 200 people are dead in the Philippines.
Dead. Which means more than 200 people left someone behind.
Someone is missing someone who is gone forever. And I’m sitting in my bed, ON MY LAPTOP, crying about my stupid selfish heart.
Really, if I had any wish, I would hope I wouldn’t be something so selfish and stupid.
I hope I would wish to help people. People who actually NEED help.
I wish I helped people more.
What’s your wish?
Why is the world the way that it is?
Why am I so dramatic?
Why do people have to eat lunch alone? No one should have to eat alone.
Why do babies die?
Why do people kill people?
Why does anything happen?
I’m writing a letter to God. And maybe somehow, when I die, I can give it to Him. Or maybe I won’t need to.
My life is going great. I have everything I need. And I’m complaining?
How does this tie into writing?
I am not sure. Actually, it ties into my writing because when I get insanely pissed-off at myself, I write something down. I yell at myself via email. I post on the blog. I write a stupid scene.
I do something.
I love writing. And I’m lucky enough that I have time in my amazing life to actually do it.
It’s the Holidays. And this is the time where you’re supposed to be extra nice to the people you should already be extra nice to.
I’m sorry I’m not nice, guys. I will do better.
I love Mom. I love Ann Dee. I love the few readers that I get every week. I love my family.
I love life. And I love writing.
I need to remember that.
I feel better. And all I needed to do was bitch a little bit.
Write your own letter to God. Maybe He will answer you in a fortune cookie.