As of today, I love my life.
I'm feeling spontaneous; I want to army crawl underneath a rosebush instead of walking around it. I want to climb a tree with Stepney and ask random passer's by if they've ever had to mow the lawn twice in one day because they didn't do it right the first time. I want to sword fight in the aisles of Wallgreens, despite the disapproving glares of fellow shoppers. Nevermind that I have a Geometry test to study for and a Sociology book to read. Screw following through with obligatory nonsense. I'm going through the McDonald's drive through in a shopping cart and ordering baked french fries and a veggie burger instead."Umm, we don't have veggie burgers here," the voice at the window will say. "Oh, so you're just going to slap some dead cow on people's plates?" I'll shout back in a British accent. I'm not a vegetarian, nor am I British. But does it really matter? What's the point of being alive if every single thing we ever do has to make sense? I don't want to be normal, I don't want to follow the rules. I want to steal sticks out of people's hands and chase after birds. I want to play unicycle hockey. I want to stand on the top of a massive cliff and look down into what could be the end of me.
I want to LIVE.
Trump's morning tweets smell of desperation.
3 hours ago