There is a certain macabre pleasure in languishing in your own private den of misery. One's id tends to stoke the fires of self-pity and encourages the feelings of "poor me" within. It is a twisted proposition of the inability to be happy unless one is unhappy.

Is it selfish to dwell on one's petty problems? To delve into the minutiae and cling onto every little bit of resentment felt, conceived or otherwise? Given the greater issues of the world at stake, are we perhaps a bit too self-indulgent in thinking only of the self and the now?

If you were the one allowed to issue the choices, then, perhaps you would be better in control. But if you were on the other end of the short stick, and been issued the choice... then perhaps you're not quite as well off as you wish you could be.

It's all a tangled web of confusion, uncertainty and yet, that tiny bit of excitement and anticipation. Till it all unravels...

You Drink To Forget.