Consider This Dismaying Observation:

My sweetest bullshit extraordinaire: its called positive assortative mating; takes one to fuck one. Sure, she's billed higher than she should be, nothing but an old, empty diamond mine, but tell that to my imagination, over which I have only sporadic control but especially not when I'm over-tired or sick; "You're such a bitch when you're [sic]..." was his own infirm susurration. Some people in this world, even the lovely people that you love, would love nothing more than the opportunity to take you apart a piece at a time. But I beat on, boat against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past, a la Gatsby, but with a significantly more interesting brain structure. Present? Ask a 7 year old to tell you all about it and have her explain what it means to be consumed while you're at it. I will say only that past performance is not a reliable indicator of future success: the financial advisers in this commercial are penniless actors. Someday, I will grab you by the collar and kiss you all I want but in the meantime we will scratch the script and rework the cast.

I'm The Martyr and I consciously approve this message.