On a day when I’m feeling sorry for myself (for perhaps a ridiculous reason, though maybe I’m justified), I hear horrible news about someone’s personal tragedy.
And how can I complain?
But I still feel pretty gloomy so I eat cookies.
And then I feel worse because . . . well, cookies make you fat.
Circling around makes me dizzy, but unfortunately does not make me any less fat.
(And then I think who cares if you’re fat . . . at least _____________________ [insert super awful occurrence] didn’t happen to you. You should be happy!)
But thinking that doesn’t actually work very well. Reverse self-pity fails again.