Every Day A Miracle

I am feeling so chipper right now. I should shave my face and put on a frilly yellow blouse, and a nice, pink skirt, because I feel just like Pollyanna. The sun rose today, and the earth's atmosphere, though a bit dirty, is still intact. What about gravity" It's STILL WORKING!!!!! I am so glad I'm not flying off into space. It's amzing to me that people take these common miracles for granted, yet they do. No wonder so many people are such grumps. Phooey on them. I think anyone with all their limbs and who are not suffering from some horrible disease should be happy for each second of the day, but the fact is that some people, even those who are wealthy are actually sadder than people missing limbs and suffering from horrible diseases. What is wrong with those people? Some are even sadder than one-legged beggars on the streets of Lahore, Pakistan, who have stage 4 pancreatic cancer, and they have no one to blame but themselves. Yes, every day is a miracle, so why must be people be sad? It's so boring to be sad. Every time I give in to depression, I just sit there and stare into space, and say over and over, "Woe is me. Woe is me." How frightfully dull. Take a walk, sing a song, spin around in circles, anything to destroy the monotony once and for all. Remember Christ said to be childlike: retain one's sense of wonder, appreciate the mystery that is life. Honestly, I should go door to door and find these sad people, and have a nice long talk with each and every one of them. How would that go, I wonder. Well, let's use the power of imagination and figure that out, shall we? Oui, Madame says, and I always do what Madame says (had to hug myself there). It's a beautiful December afternoon, and I am walking along the River Road in Saint Paul, where no one should be sad, but lo and behold, I see a man get out of his car, wearing a frown. He goes inside his house, and I am touched by his plight. I walk up to his front door and knock. A few seconds later the door opens. "Can I help you?" he asks. "No sir," I reply. "I'm here to help you." "Whatever it is, I'm not buying..." "I'm not selling anything, sir," I explain. "I noticed from the sidewalk that you didn't look very happy. I came here to make you happy." He shook his head for a second, then said, "If you want me to be happy, just go away." I smiled, and said, "Gladly, sir," but as I turned to leave, he said, "Stop right there." He smiled, and said, "Come in. We should talk." I entered his house, and he had me take off my coat and my shoes, and he led me to the couch, where I sat. "You know, I wasn't in a very good mood when I got home. I was just going to tell you to suck my dick when I answered the door," he said, then there was a pause. "I bet you would've done that, huh." He got as close as he could, and said, "You wanted me to be happy so bad, you would've sucked my dick." My breathing got heavy, and I answered, "Yes, sir. I do want you to be happy." "Well then...suck my dick." He unfastened his belt, and pulled down his zipper. My breathing got even heavier as he pulled out his cock, and I reached out to touch it so that it was firm as I bent down to gently lick it. "Go ahead, put it in your mouth," he commanded, and I did. As I sucked him off, I could tell he was very happy, and that made me so glad.