Ah, the holiday celebrating when the native americans gave the pilgrims food and the pilgrims gave them smallpox. Although, let's look on the bright side, at first it wasn't on purpose.
I really can't think of a worse reason to have a holiday. Moving on so I can stop being emotional.
I was recently thinking of life as a story. Just not the fairytale kind where random crap just happens.
That would mean that everyone is their own protagonist. Working against all odds to achieve unbelievable feats. If you look at it this way, homework becomes a lot more interesting.
"HaHA! The teacher thinks I will succumb to overnight write? THINK AGAIN, FIEND!"
Anyways, maybe a healthy mental state is being your own protagonist, and extreme sadness is like you're... not? Or like your life has become the depressing book no one wants to read.
You may call me harsh. That's OK. I will take the Emersonian view to your criticism and say that it makes me a genius.
Anyway, maybe a key to happiness is keeping your life book within acceptable, readable parameters.
This simile is really long-winded and complicated. And this post has not had nearly as much sarcasm as it should.
Goodbye!
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