I think how fortunate I and most of the people I know are that they got out of bed this morning. We grumble about working but what if we couldn’t work? We whine when the alarm goes off and we have to get out of bed, but what if we couldn’t get out of bed?
Why must I always find something to mock about other people’s happiness or romantic moments? Am I that uncomfortable with genuine emotion? With love? I write romance novels. I should be applauding these moments, shouldn’t I? But instead, I tear them down and pour my caustic words on top of them. A chilling thought is maybe I don’t really buy into what I’m trying to sell.