Fatigue

I just reread my post from last night. It's funny how fatigue and frustration can skew your perception of something, especially when the assessment of said thing is almost entirely aesthetic and subjective. In the morning's dim sunlight the story doesn't seem so bad. I even feel a little guilty for cutting it off before it really started. But such is life.

It's crazy to consider how many of those less fortunate there are. How what we consider to be average is almost reviled by the "average" person but, to someone born with a physical or mental deformity, to be average is to be whole; it is to have a chance. How insidious it is that we take this for granted. We are seldom contented by what wealth we have.

We take it further though, and we begin to lament our fortunes, clutching at our imagined poverties with a dedicated masochist compulsion. It is as though we come to be fatigued by happiness, sabotaging it at every opportunity.

The only ones who are truly gracious are the ones with nothing to be grateful for.