“I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can't feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often.” - Charles Bukowski
Holidays. Holy Days. Days that are sacred. Thanksgiving. Giving of thanks. Gratitude. But what happens when there is no gratitude, where there is nothing sacred, nothing holy; there is only that sad sickness? Wherein there lies a physically insurmountable obstacle to those you love, why bother? Or, as Job bluntly put it, "Since I am already found guilty, why should I struggle in vain?"