June 29th, 2002 - 11:33 p.m.

Four more sorts of people.

There are people with wonderful childhood memories. They sit about outdoor fires, sipping brandy, and recount touching stories. Mothers and fathers who cared, who existed. Stories to wipe tears from the corners of your eyes to. Stories to smile to. Stories that only belong to them.

There are people with blissful lives. Lives without turmoil, or severe tragedy. They agitate nothing, and nothing agitates in return. They coast along, content in simplicity. Their hearts never break, their pain is merely another story to tell.

There are people who are happy. Genuinely, consistently happy. Biting into a pear presents to them all the beauty of the world. Human contact contents them. No human contact contents them. As happy as happy clams. In a shell, sifting through salt water.

There are people who have never felt ugly in their entire lives. They recognize themselves in the mirror. They close their eyes, and all they see is glorious. Prettiness in all. Their presence soothes. There is no tinge of melancholy here.

I will never be any of these people.

N.

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