You know, this year wasn't supposed to be like this. Because I already endured last year. Survived the relationship-that-wasn't. The job-that-wasn't. The new-city-that-wasn't. The end-of-the-world-that-wasn't. But this year, this year was going to be better. That was the deal.
But, no. This had to be the bleakest, suckiest, unluckiest and most painful year I've had yet. And it's not even half done yet.
Having said that, I'm still keeping my chin up, dear readers. Because this year I'm being an optimist. Even though since I've decided to be one, all the things I've got are the trauma of (i) losing an iPhone (ii) getting a root canal treatment (iii) finding out A has a girlfriend (iv) finding out B might have a thing for me (v) having Smugface/Mad Prof turn my olive branch into whomping willow and smash it back in my face (vi) getting into a weird cat-fight with Aghori, my soul-sister (vii) seeing the mother in HYMYM (viii) going broke (ix) (x) having my hair turn red.
On the plus side, I now see why optimists are always so happy. The biggest hope of them all? It's the certainty of death.