Ya know, i’ve had a really bad day so far. It’s just one big lump of frustration, sitting there like a gnarled, cancerous breast. I fume. I get more dramatic. I vow to take on the medical industry and make them all pay, asshole by asshole. I come to my senses and realize that this is retarded and I should just move to the Netherlands and be with Ron.
So i’m just going to sit here and think about something I read this morning:

You must accept that there is no cosmic plan — just a story you tell yourself after the fact. As you try to weave each twist and turn of your life into some coherent whole, you artfully fashion the meaning you need. Things are not meant to be, they are made to mean.