This weekend I was returning home from My Best Friend's Wedding with my friend Shawn. It was an awesome wedding. I haven't had that much fun in ages. I laughed so hard for three days straight, that I laughed my little mini-depression right out of me. Or so I thought. The hangover on Sunday seemed to alert me to the fact that a few vestiges of dirty darkness remained.

I could feel my gut gradually sinking as the exit numbers of the NJ Turnpike slowly counted down the last few precious moments of my blissful weekend before I was plunged into the destitute hell that is currently my life in New York. At one point, I asked Shawn to pull off one of the rest stops so I could guzzle some lemonade. The Hangover was demanding it.

As we were walking into the rest stop, a man with no arms or legs was wheeling to his car with a companion in a motorized wheel-chair. This guy didn't even have a pelvis. He was a torso and a head in a wheel chair. After we passed him, I said to Shawn, "Damn, every time I think my life sucks, I'm going to think about that guy. I thought I had it bad, but I don't, man. I have a great f*ckin' life." And Shawn said, "Yes, you do."

I really do.