Don't Read This Book It'll Ruin The Movie!

Think -And- Grow A Pair
By Dbird

Have you had an old person sit next to you recently? Did the rotting stench kill the courage it took to say hello to the younger more attractive person sitting on the other side of you? Did you look her in the eye when you got up and asked if you could sit there? Or did your eyes dart everywhere like the day you figured out they'd lied to you, first time? They feel invisible you know. Old people. You should always look them in the eye. Let them know you can still see them. Then they will tell you, "Life goes by quick!" They like to snap and go, "Just like that!" Just ask one. They'll be happy to tell you all about how fast life goes while your bus crawls through traffic. That is, if you can stand their rotting insides battering your sensual breathe pipes. Wishing you were still intoxicating yourself with the shirt your lover slept in then dropped and forgot so easily onto your left running shoe. You sniffed it before stuffing it into the hamper. She left just before you. You took too long in the shower thinking, "Is she messy? I don't want a messy wife." She'd wanted to walk together to the train and is probably still mad. Like an evil witch cursing you with a warning snap, "Just like that!" There are maggots that go with that stench. Time warps in sickening speed as you wrinkle and shrink. Failed marriage, you look at your kid and say, "Just like that!" and suddenly your sitting on a park bench wondering why your kid won't call you one more time and leave a message you won't return. Why your dead father still controls everything you do and despite warnings from evil doers you still do not appreciate the urgency life is that you appreciate her. Life. Not your wife, She's been gone. You're waiting tables to try and pay hospital bills and someone suggests a gratitude journal. She saw it on Oprah. Gratitude is to life what telling a beautiful, insecure, woman she is beautiful is. That bottomless pit will never be enough and it never gets old. You just do it. Because that is what she requires. Thank you. Maybe you should have told your wife she was beautiful. You think? No, she's not that shallow. She's gone, you remember. Thank you. She's gone. And you have no idea how much that pain will stink up a bus in 50 years. If you're lucky. And still, you have to say, "Thank you, Life." When everyone moves away from you and nobody looks you in the eye. "Thank you."