Is it a little strange that i sort out my feelings as if it were a story of some sort?

Its what makes most sense. Because you see, in this story, its from my point of view, and is my life. My complications and plot twists, love interests and friendships.

Its also waiting for a happy ending.

Bizarrely, and I think I may just blame Disney, for this, I have always believed theres a happy ending. A light at the end of the tunnel. Hope everywhere. Because there has to be.

I always assumed it would be in life, as most of my life was as an athiest. I'm almost scared to agree with the Christian teaching that the Happy Ending isn't until afterwards. Because that means i have nothing to work towards, nothing to fight for- death is inevitable and so as a christian and beleiver, therefore as is some form of Yayness when I die.

Its okay, I'm not being creepy, I'm just babbling.

Its strange to me how much everything begins to resemble a story when you really look at it.

Think of yourself. Picture your friend. Picture the lessons you've learnt, and how you've learnt them. Have there been unexpected areas of your life? An introduction where you learnt important things? Stages of your life that you can label Chapters?

Well It works. Maybe not for anyone else, but for me.

And if i were reading my story, I'd close it and stick it somewhere else. Maybe give it to a charity shop.

I'm that much of a dysfunctonal Character, noone would read me. Noone would care about my teenage angst or whatever, because it all, inevitably, is pointless. The things that stress me out and pull me down are boring. Even I wouldnt write me.

When thinking of my life like this, I was stunned by how much of a part my minor characters played...You know in a book you're supposed to have a few main characters aside from your lead, and then those that arent the very closest would be minor characters?

Its like...Leila. Or Claire. Or Jordan.

They're not main characters in my life. Theyre not people I talk to when I'm feeling crappy, or go out with every week, or spend hours on the phone talking to.

Theyre people who i love though, very much, who make me smile and pull through for me.

Alot of the time, they pull through for me more than the main characters do.

And if God is the master weaver in this whole mess of a manuscript, why did he waste the ink?

Why is the plot written in a dark tone?

The rainy cloud on a ray of sunshine?

Why would he plant doubt and self-hatred everywhere? Surely it would make a rubbish book?

So forget the writer. Why would the main characters be a source of pain more often than a source of joy? Surely they should be emotional strength and comfort?

So that begs the question, the writer is not flawed, the writer is perfect. So the character must be flawed. Broken. Unworkable. Merely a minor character a writer would kill off later.

Again, not literally, just metaphorically.

Sigh.

Final question, Why would that person be referring to their life in the third person and in terms of a book?

Yeesh they have issues.