Everything is a mess. Every little thing. And, as strange as it seems, I feel like I prefer it that way. Things explode and I get to reassemble them all over again… each time differently, each time growing a bit more. And everytime, I gladly remember that being happy isn’t dependent upon my surroundings… the people, places, things I associate myself with…but rather on what I make of it all, how I interpret it. It’s hard to think about happiness that way. But that’s the way it is. I don’t want to remove myself from all of the chaos, I want to revel in it. And that doesn’t mean I want life to serve me up an enormous helping of horrible…because that is most certainly not something I can stomach right now… I just want to be able to wholeheartedly accept “entropy” as part of my life and get on with it. Saying that life is a rollercoaster is so overused, but incredibly true. You get used to it and try to find the good amongst the bad. You’re living, breathing, thinking… you have yourself… that alone should be enough. Kind of a nice blend of existentialism and optimism. Existoptimism? I like it.