Too Bad

It's quarter to two in the morning. It's raining outside. I'm not sleepy, which is too bad because I have a very comfortable bed, and the temperature is perfect for a sweat and shiver free night. I'm not hungry, which is too bad because I have a refrigerator stocked with the finest meats and cheeses. I'm not horny, which is too bad because I have an internet full of pornography.

It's ten to two in the morning. The cool wind blows in through my kitchen window. I'm not thirsty, which is too bad because I have a giant bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin and seven cans of Busch Light. I'm not constipated, which is too bad because I have fifteen unread magazines and a toilet. I'm not lovesick, which is too bad because I have envelopes and postage stamps and no real need for my little toe.

It's five to two in the morning. My apartment is quiet except for the drip from the bathroom sink. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. I am not lonely, which is too bad because I have at least one friend who will answer the phone. I am not alone, which is too bad because Grandma's ghost can be a little scary. I am not paranoid, which is too bad because then I could sit hooded in the park until the first morning jogger tries to run me down and cut out my kidneys.

It's two in morning. I'm bored.