I have a hell of a story behind all my comeuppance as of late. I figure a person cannot know what real pain is, and in most cases, love, until they’ve felt desperate. You know the kind desperation that will alter you. For better or worse it’s something that changes you.
I think when a person comes out the other side of that desperation, if they’re lucky enough to have survived. Survived inwardly. There’s still an ember of something. Don’t know what it is but you feel the burn. Your eyes are clear. You are tuned into life and all its torment the Shit doesn’t even bother you. You don’t lose sleep. You just keep going. Because although from all appearances and logic, your eyes can’t see, your heart can’t find, your hands can’t make up, your vocabulary escapes you. By all appearances there’s Nothing, anything , there’s nothing to live for. But there’s one thing you think of. It could be as stupid as an oil change. The oil change is a promise there’s going to be a tomorrow. Then you remember the day after you’ve got a room full of monsters to pack up to send to goodwill.

So like Dorothy Parker said, “you might as well live.”