*waits patiently for 72.3% of the blogging audience to file out the door*
Assuming that everybody who remains is willing not to pass guillotine-like judgment, I will continue with the day’s stupidity.
Here we go…
Today, I’m mourning the death of my garden.
I feel like I’ve lost a friend in the blink of a cold, unforgiving night.
How freaking silly is that?
In a world running over with real tragedies and real losses, my “grief” is simply idiotic. I realize this. I recognize it. But it doesn’t make the loss any less shallow.
I’m always telling my psychiatrist that I feel so achingly silly all the time. (When success is measured by how many people you dare to interact with during a day, your life can really be considered nothing but, well, stupid and trite. I mean, really? You dared to visit two little boys’ lemonade stand across the street and you are fist-pumping the air and considering a ticker tape parade? Now, how is that anything but dumb?)
So, I shouldn’t be surprised by my sadness over winter stealing away my flowers.
I shouldn’t be, but I am.
Sometimes silliness sucks.