Put the Prozac DOWN... and the Seroxat...

According to the Daily Mail (oracle of all that is good and just and generally untrue), we're not depressed, but simply stressed!...which will sometimes lead to one becoming depressed.
It's all too easy nowadays, our lives have little meaning, surviving isn't so hard (comparitively, I'll let you offer up your own comparisons), and our ambitions seem rather silly when held next to those of our Grandparents/elders/forebearers/whatever. [insert details of the difficulties of living in war-torn/post-war ravaged europe here]
But essentially it seems fairly true; when we lack something of substance to complain about or to point the finger at for the reason why we feel less than the greatness we're told we should always feel, since we've never had it so good, we delve into the minutiae of our psyche, analysing and dismantling ourselves til we have a suitable facade with which we may convincingly dissemble our supposedly lack-lustre appearance with.
So like your Grandmother might say, shut up and get on with it. Life sucks (there are some sparkly moments throughout the experience) The ethereal happy contented part comes when you're dead.

Short Men

Should be avoided, since the affliction which is their diminuative stature makes it easier for them to attempt to actively finger a passing (taller) female, rather than the standard bum-brush/grab/spank.
Obviously, they're not used to being confronted, as most people would be risking spinal injury to look down at them. But occasionally one will take this risk, only to have something along the lines of "You can't afford me anyway" squeaked at them from somewhere near the floor.
Surely simple manners would get such a boy further than an inferiority complex? Or did I miss something.

8.07 Boston Express

I listen to

Warm rivers trickle through tin

As I feel

Warm rivers move beneath my skin

During this moment of broken sleep

Waiting to fall listlessly

Back onto the heap

Of dreams that await me

I'm Bleeding

Alone

Thrust waking into a morning that did not expect me

Jill

He Wishes For Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W B Yeats

Cunting Inept Car Thieves

My daddy drops by to see me in London between business thingy-ma-bobs. Yay! I have a visitor!
But the first thing he says when he calls to say he's here, is that my car window appears to be open.
So off I skip down the road towards the lil car, cheesy wotsits in one hand, car keys on my finger... and what is this that I spy?
A coat, very similar to my sleeping bag coat (what I love) reclining awkardly on the wall near by, and scattered around the passenger door, there appears to be glass sequins, sparkling prettily in the afternoon sun.
Oh no, that would be my window, shattered all over the interior and pavement. Sexy.
And whats this in the foot well? Ooo, that would be all the tapes which are a bit precious, which never get stolen each time the car gets smashed.
And the radio is fine... because it's worthless unless you like old mix tapes.
But lo! What's this I spy? The steering column prised open, wires looking to make their escape, and the bonnet lever wrenched to buggery, so the bonnet doesnt open. Hot.

Driving it to the parents in the evening proves to be enjoyable, with one headlight cover smashed, one indicator, and a rear light that goes out everytime I brake.

Maybe the car was a circus clown once. Anyone missing a circus car?

Chameleon

Unobtrusive, unnoticed, does his bit without complaint.
Not entirely unappreciated, though possibly underrated is his part within the system.
Self-sufficient, yet in need of new scenes to attach to so as to allow growth and diversify ability.
Constant alterations, he's never home for long.
Becomes unknown, unrecognised.
Unwelcome.
Not the person he's been.