Why?
I hate that question because it’s so deceivingly open-ended, yet I’m always asking it. From my experiences, I’ve answered a few, but regardless, it’s so much harder knowing that the crucial ones still float in my memories… “why?”

Thanksgiving - in essence, not historically - is a short stretch of time given to thank the shit out of your life, but I just yelled at my father, drove away, and yelled at the red lights that stopped me from being home. So I guess, I’m thankful for my car. Because with out it, I’d be walking home in the bitter cold, pissed the fuck off.

Listening to Jake Shimabukuru, I’m calming myself down from the fury with reasons that will never escape me. I read everyone’s tweets, facebook statuses, and text messages, and I can’t help but remind myself of Scrooge.

I’m losing.