Calling Travis Wimer Pity Party Of One

The Rule: No one is allowed a pity party

In my last post I was rather gloomy. Night time surrounded me, I was working alone in the front office and my writing was driving me mad. Now that the sun is up, the pinata effigy of myself bashed to smithereens, the skull balloons are popped and the vinegar cake devoured, I feel much better, thank you very much. Thus concluded my pity party.

I am sure everyone is entitled to one these shindigs of the grimmest order. I just hope no one sends out invitations.

Feeling sorry for ourselves is a mixed feeling. We may feel self-righteousness and our head inflates with pride, and then at the same time we feel terribly isolated, just hoping someone can take a glimpse at how miserable we truly are and maybe they would comfort us and join the "dark side."

Throwing a pity party is a choice, a choice that has no rewards, only unnoticed depression. So don't throw them. I say, instead throw puppies at grannies walking across the street, at least doing that you'll get some attention.