I've been thinking. I wonder why I don't write when I'm happy, only when I'm sad or confused or in some sort of miserable pathetic state of emotion. I think it's because happiness is a hot air balloon you float on, and who doesn't enjoy the sensation of being weightless? But sadness, anger, etc. is a heavy weight and you have to kick that weight off before you're thrown into the ocean. I kick off my weight by venting.

The Things They Carried

By Tim O'Brien

It's a beautiful book. I love it. It actually makes me physically feel when I read the book. I can feel my stomach turning into knots and my guts aching. You should read it.