Lately, I find myself wondering "what's the point?" What's the point of trying to do the right thing, help those who need it and shoot for success? From where I sit, I can see none. Not when doing all the above only serves to get you shat upon with a vengeance by those who would fancy themselves your betters. Nice guys really do finish last, it seems.
The only things that keep me going are my friends-- my real friends. They know who they are, or at least, they should by now. More than one of them is in the same boat... knowing that they will spend their entire lives striving for what, in the end, will be nothing. And all the while, those who were born with horseshoes up their asses will skate through life without a care in the world.
That leads me to the other thing that keeps me going-- the chance, no matter how miniscule, that one day I will be able to stick it to the pampered... to somehow, someway, make them feel as tiny and powerless and impotent as I feel now. That chance does exist, so long as I remain alive... so long as I draw breath and hot Irish/Cherokee blood continues to flow through my veins. No matter how long it takes, no matter what I must endure along the way, I know that, just as the proverbial dog, my day, too, will come.
Get ready.
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