If only I could get a decent night’s sleep, just one night.
If only this rain would stop.
If only I could lose 10 pounds. If only you would love me.
If only I knew a decent therapist/masseur/mechanic/Mexican restaurant.
Yes, if only there was decent Mexican food in Austria!
If only I could get published, wasn’t such a moron, was a better listener.
If only I had bought Microsoft stock back in the day. If only I could win the lottery.
If only I was irresistable, a better father, a better husband, a better cook, a better friend, son, brother.
If only I was taller. If only I could concentrate, had a better self-image, was better in social situations, had bigger biceps, thicker hair, better hearing.
If only you could keep god after finding him, the Ramones weren’t dying like flies, radio didn’t suck, other people could fucking drive.
If only I could calm down. If only I’d had mentoring. If only we didn’t die, were gods. Wouldn’t that be great.
If only
Posted in Feral Living
I knew you were short.
Even worse, I’m shrinking.
Damn. Now I’m depressed.
Don’t make me come over there, Mig.
Even though I am in full feelin’-ya mode on about half those critical measures.
But Hear me Now, World: he is not short. He is every bit as manly and debonair and pleasantly statured as you imagined.
“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.”
Pithy observation 101, stolen from somewhere.
but if beggers were horses we wouldn’t have to listen to spiels about buying lunch, although we’d have to carry little sacks of oats and sugar cubes whenever we went to town.