I feel like someone who invited a homeless man into her home for a sandwich and he complains because I’m out of pickles.
Or like I invited him in from the cold and he whines because the temperature’s still not right for him.
I feel like I just gave a kid a Christmas present and she pouts because it’s not the right color.
I feel like even trying to do the right thing simply isn’t worth it anymore. It’s just too discouraging.
“No good deed goes unpunished,” as the saying goes. Why does that always have to be true, I wonder? Why bother? It just rips you up. Lays you flat.
Can I please sleep for a hundred years now?