Stand Up And Take A Look Around

Right. I now have Microsoft Office and it only took nearly 7,000 years to install. I miss my Mac. Fuck a PC. I am going to try to work this thing out which, if successful, will get me out of the Army with a quickness. Lord, or the volcano thing on the cover of the book Tom Cruise worships, please let this work.
Where is everyone I know?
Time Magazine can eat a dick. How is everyone going to be the person of the year? What kind of lazy, bush league, lack of trying are we pulling here? Is this the best we can do?
That dead hooker in England looks like ol' stabby.
Papasan, please take me home. Everybody, they want to go home. Instead, I'll take a rickshaw ride straight to hell. How's that sound? Either way, I'm very happy you came here. Please enjoy your stay.
I think that in order for this to end I must return to perfect isolation. I know in order to return to perfect isolation I must wait for this to end. Thus, I am fucked.
I saw a place today were a million good men were trampled down. I walked a path today where countless carried their misery with them. I knelt in a graveyard and spoke with thousands who also let their fathers down. I listened to one man speak about how he would guide me and how the suffering and sorrow were needed. This one man informed me that in order for every king to relinquish his crown, every soldier to disarm and for us all to realize the one true messiah is not ourselves, this pain must happen. This one man claimed the one true messiah would rescue us form ourselves. I looked out upon a field that screamed with the deaths of millions of men stretched over recorded history and asked who needs whom more. I should have saved my breath.
I have had time to think of these events today. As I write this, the moon is the only light illuminating my apartment and I think that if it is true that we need saving, perhaps it is the blood in my veins that needs saving. Perhaps the pain in my blood is the yearning to be helped. Perhaps my lifetime of decisions to make things better for others is in vain. Perhaps the same small heart pumped the same anemic blood through the veins of each man who died for whatever the cause of the year was.
Perhaps those men will welcome me when I die and we will wax poetic about each woman we each loved and never lived long enough to embrace.