Feat-less.

Are you okay? They ask.

No, I'm not okay. Does this look like the track record of someone whose okay? For every one light-hearted entry there's an entire issue of Depressed Digest.

It reminds me of one of my favorite songs: this living shouldn't be called living if it's really only half alive.

And that's what this is.

I remember a time when I reached the proverbial endless pit of sanity. My brother and sister-in-law had just lost their unborn daughter. We were all shaken, however, I was shook in a different way. I remember wishing desperately that my Mikayla survived, even if it meant that I didn't. I wanted to give her my life. To give it someone who wanted to be there to live it. To give it to someone who would bring meaning to the word alive. I was never and will never be a candidate for alive.

Sure, I could learn to live. Hell, I've done it for 20 whole years, whats another 80? Another 80 years in Depress O'Clock is well over 1,000,000. It's like what Anthony said over there to your left, "The flowers all have bloomed, they are just waiting for you to notice."

When will I notice? Why haven't I noticed so far?

I can certainly enjoy a lovely sunset as much as the next gal, but there's a little more to life than watching as Mother Nature lays down her head to sleep. Half of living is wanting to do all the things life has to offer. Without that, it's like going to a shoe sale with no money. Or, no feet.

I've heard that life is what happens while you're busy making other plans. Maybe I should start making plans, too.

To live.