For Feel-good Fiction To Work, There Has

Besides, I'd Seen A Really Nice Pair Of Shoes Yesterday In The Mall And I Wanted Them For My Own. I Can't Describe The Feeling Of Immediate Familiarity That Rushed Between Us. The Moment I Clapped Eyes On Them I Felt Like I Already Owned Them. I Could Only Suppose That We Were Together In A Former Life. That They Were My Shoes When I Was A Serving Maid In Medieval Britain Or When I Was A Princess In Ancient Egypt. Or Perhaps They Were The Princess And I Was The Shoes. Who's To Know? Either Way I Knew That We Were Meant To Be Together.

I Haven’t Had Botox Because My Face Is A Bit Lopsided And I Depend On Keeping Everything Animated So That People Don’t Notice.

So I'm Back Again To The Eternal Question, The One That Has Plagued Me All My Life: How Do Other People Do It? How Come They Were Given Life's Rule Book And I Missed Out? Where Was I When God Was Dispensing Capability And Cop On? Looking At Shoes, Probably.

I Still Get Awful Depression. It's Who I Am.

Why Do We Have Such A Finite Capacity For Pleasure But An Infinite One For Pain?