Human kind is kind because we go to great lengths to allow me to have sneakers that are gray and go well with my jeans and chandeliers that are shiny and dinner plates full of steak and waiter, can I actually get the Chardonnay?

But I cry because it is so meaningless and pointless and tiring to answer, over a bottle of Vermouth Where do you work? How much money does she make? Upper east side or west village?

Instead of: What games do you love best? What does her voice sound like? Do you still dream of pink houses made of rosy brick with daffodils on the windowsill and little white picket fences?

Can one truly be happy with grownup questions and trinkets like shiny red shoes and heaps of clothes shoved in the back of the closet forlorn and wrinkled waiting for the next _______ to join the pile?

What ever happened to summer nights picking dandelions not clothes racing through empty parking lots? Three siblings imagining the taste of the sky eyes wide open counting the stars.

But, to tell you the truth More often than not I laugh because it is so meaningless And pointless And tiring.

Late at night I whisper Amor Fati: I love my life.