Milk goes bad after a few weeks in the fridge, but it rots a lot faster when you just leave it where you spilled it.

Some days, you feel bold. You feel significant because you're on top of the world. And the world doesn't mind it because it put you up there on purpose.

Some days, you feel like mud. And not the cute mud that little girls in yellow rainboots leap into or cross country runners smear like warpaint over their face. No. More like the kind of mud that smells like a cistern and gets stuck with a piece of gum in the tread of some really apathetic person's boots, and when they notice it, they scrape it out with a twig and smear it back onto the sidewalk while muttering something about the inefficiency of public walkways or taxes or something. And then it's just laying there, a scourge, a scar on a rough, unforgiving canvas, looking uglier and more offensive than ever.

And some days, you float.

Just a thought.