dear diary, don't let anybody try to tell you that life is beautiful right now. right now life is weird and confusing in the worst way. sometimes the sunset casts me with a rosy glow, but after night comes on: life. still. sucks. life sucks the poetry out of you and makes you a glassy eyed cynic. you'll just get old anyway. you'll bald and turn to ash. you may have blond hair and blue eyes but AFTER that, AFTER you die, you smell like vivid decay. life is a really terrible gift from a really awful, drunk god who must read a lot of Eugene O'neill and Tennessee Williams. the gift giver dies too, and life is still nasty and vile, confusing and upsetting. when the laughter dies down. when the party is over. life sets into your chest like heartbreak and it hurts.