Half a Glass

They say there are two types of people in the world:

Those that see the glass half empty and then those that see the glass as half full.

But this isn’t really accurate.

You see, these things actually fall along a spectrum.

Some will see the half glass of water and instantly say:

What the fuck? Where is the rest of my water? Who fucking drank my shit? Who ripped me off?

Then they will blame the nearest person for what they believe to be an additional half glass of water that is owed to them.

They will yell and scream and pick up that glass and throw it against the wall. 

The shards of glass on the floor and the water stained wall and puddle on the tile? That’s not their fault. It is the fault of who ever was handing out water and noe it is also their fault that they are dieing of thirst.

That’s one end of the spectrum and it’s a miserable way to be.

On the other end, some people are overjoyed by having half a glass of water. Hell, they remember all the times they had no water and we’re aching to slake their thirst.

They lift the glass of water into the air and sing praises to the water. And while they are thirsty, they carefully cover the glass and save it and wait until they “really need it” and maybe it will rain and they can take the glass outside and the heavens will bless them further by making the glass over flow…

Aren’t they lucky? 

Well, no, they are also thirsty and are too stupid to simply enjoy what they have. They save it out of fear of never seeing water again.

Opposite ends of the spectrum.

Equally thirsty.

Suffering in their own self-induced way.

The better way to be?

We’ve got half a glass of water. Let’s share it. You take a sip. I’ll take a sip. It will be nice. This is what water is for. It’s here to drink. We can find more when we need it. Let’s just enjoy it, together. 

All of us.

The only living boy in the world´╗┐

There are songs that stick with you and always just drift back into your head based on moments and times and they have this magical way of flooding your senses and soaking you to the bone with thoughts and,  yes, this is a run on sentence and I don’t really care…
“The Only Living Boy In New York”

Tom, get your plane right on time

I know your part’ll go fine

Fly down to Mexico

And here I am

The only living boy in New York
Of course, when I sing along I change “New York” to “the world” because:

1) never in New York that much

2) never felt alone in New York

And it’s this line that just slays me every time…
Half of the time we’re gone but we don’t know where

And we don’t know where…