Today all of my Hunter Thompson books arrived. Already I'm reading and highlighting and being amazed. It's nice to be able to answer the question: "Who's your favorite author?"
"I bought a small bottle of beer for fifteen cents and sat on a bench in the clearing, feeling like an old man. The scene I had just witnessed brought back a lot of memories--not of things I had done but of things I failed to do, wasted hours and frustrated moments and opportunities forever lost because time had eaten so much of my life and I would never get it back. I envied Yeamon and felt sorry for myself at the same time, because I had seen him in a moment that made all my happiness seem dull." Hunter S. Thompson, The Rum Diary.
I KNOW that feeling. I HATE that feeling. Sometimes its hard to just... BE happy. And then when you are, seeing happiness in someone else can make yours seem so small--pathetic. It's that feeling that people get, sitting alone on Valentine's Day. It's an empty feeling, deep inside, that, although shelled over and surrounded by your own version of happiness, it feels like there would always be room for more. And THAT person has no more room. THAT person is happier than you are. Can't happiness be SAD? But that's just my opinion. Zac.
