And death i think is no parenthesis

A sinister feeling has been slowly creeping up on me over the past few years, commensurate with my increasing level of awareness of (first) all of the evil shit that's going down in the world, and (second) all of the greedy, compassion-less bastards that are exacerbating the problems and/or stymieing the significantly smaller chunk of humanity that genuinely gives a damn. My warm-blooded, liberal heart has for so long hoped that the goodness inside each of us will ultimately prevail, that we'll eventually stop persecuting people based on their religion (or lack thereof), skin color, sexual identity, or nationality, that we'll some day stop trying to kill each other, stop exploiting everything and everyone that we come across. Imagine, if you will, that all of the hate in the world is a bomb (fitting, considering the implications of certain hate-filled groups in the world with easy access to nuclear and biological weapons). The bomb is about to explode, causing a massi...

I cried this morning. Scratch that - I wept. Before it happened, I called in sick. I've been fighting a cold for several days, see. After that was taken care of, I sat down on my couch and broke down into sobs. The scariest part is that I didn't even know why  I was crying. I don't usually  cry, see. Not even at funerals or weddings or anything. In fact, I can remember each time I have cried over the past couple of years. Just a few days ago, I called a very dear family member who is dealing with some seriously heavy things. Near the close of the conversation, she started crying and said, "You're very special to me." I dittoed both sentiments. This last summer, well before moving to Kansas City, I found myself crying a lot. My grandmother died - cancer - in her house with the rest of my family taking care of her. Her youngest son, my Uncle Joshua had died tragically just months previous. Before that happened, I parted ways with my girlfriend, Je...