Looking back over the few things I put here, I'm kind of disappointed by the lack of quality. Then I look at this thing I wrote just now, and it's just more of the same.

But I'll still post it. Why destroy the fruits of even a small bit of effort?



Whenever we left the park, my little sister would cry. Mom would soothe her and tell her we'd come back, that everything would be here next time, and that we had exciting things ahead of us. She would cry, and cry, and then be better. All she needed to know was that she had something to look forward to.

I wish I had something to look forward to.

I'm sitting here, closer to morning's light than evening's dark, drearily awaiting the time when I'm required to move. Staring into the blank space of the computer monitor - another wasted night. Another lost sleep.