I've determined that the reason I cannot live in the real world is because it's too cruel. There are no magical fairytale endings here. No promises. The moments of happiness are brief and just frequent enough to keep you hoping that there are more to come.

The hope fed to you spoonful by spoonful is false. There's nothing for you here. Nothing for me. Nothing for anyone. Face it. We'll all end up paper-pushers with more snot-nosed little brats than we can care for and about half of the patience necessary to do so properly.

But go. Have your nice, perfect little lives of lies. I'm going somewhere better.

Good luck.

Good night.