it’s my own damn fault

Gah.

The rivers are full of crocodile nasties, and He who made kittens put snakes in the grass. He's a lover of life, but a player of pawns --- yes, the King on His sunset lies waiting for dawn to light up His Jungle as play is resumed. The monkeys seem willing to strike up the tune.

“You’re very sure of your facts,” he said at last, “I couldn’t trust the thinking of a man who takes the Universe – if there is one – for granted.”

I’ve gone so long moping and groaning and bitching about everything, that now it is just a given that I’m fucked up. Even when I’m not.

So, now what?