Why is it that you never realize how important something is to you until it's gone? You may have an idea, but the full force of it doesn't hit you until it's no longer within reach. And then it sucks. Like, really sucks.
I feel like I'm living in a movie. A dramatic movie with grand speeches and drama and torrid love affairs. Someone is arrested right after being engaged. There is financial difficulty. There are tears. Family turns away. And all you're left with is a bittersweet ending and the desire to say, "Well, it could have been worse."
I'm not sure when I turned into a cliche. It seems to have crept up on me. Now I'm in the middle of act two, holding the smoking gun, and not knowing how I ended up in the neighbor's basement. Except it turns out not to be the neighbor's basement at all, but I'm having a vivid hallucination from the confines of my padded cell. And the padded cell is in a government research facility disguised as a mental hospital. Underground. In the year 2085.
I'm sure you get what I mean.
I suppose I could write a book about it. I've written books about stranger things. But for some reason, reality doesn't seem nearly as interesting as people who throw energy balls. Maybe because I can't throw energy balls. I'll let you know when they let me out of my cell.