Sometimes I want to comfort people, hand on the shoulder "I get you, man", but I don't because the sentiment feels too glib.  Everything turns into something I was trying to say instead of something I said.  I mean, whatever.  At a bar-cum-confessional in Minneapolis I told a bunch of strangers that I'm lost in life and that I enjoy grooming people "like a chimpanzee."  A few weeks later while having a raspberry crepe for Sunday brunch in Montreal, I realized how nice everything really is.  But...even though I have most everything I could want, I still get so mean and so sour-mooded.  The rules keep changing; the stakes keep getting higher.  All I need is this or that or whatever the fuck and I'll be OK.  Finally, happiness hinges upon going on a huge trip, an extended vacation on someone else's dime and even then I am not satisfied.  The feeling of dread waxes and wanes with each moment but remains ever present.

Wait-- what I'm really trying to say is that things are getting better.