distracted

Why is it so easy to get into a space where I forget to glory in the joy of being? Is ingratitude so ingrained in my nature and character that I'm destined to ride the turbulent ocean of life perpetually steering my little dingy towards the troughs? Foamy, irridescent waves are cresting all around, but I doggedly decide to dwell in the doldrum's dingy shadows. Why is that?

In the words of philospher-stooge "Moe", "I'm tryin' to think, but nothin' happens!" There's no reason I should be like this. Ergo, in this moment I shall eschew groveling in the gravel. Carpe Everything!