BLAH.

Why is it that I never truly appreciate summer until the last full day left? Why?

Why is it that no matter how amazingly sweet, loving, nice and inexplicably perfet you are, it doesn't garuntee an amazingly sweet, love-filled, nice and inexplicably perfect life? (and no, I'm not talking about myself - I'm not that egotistical)

Why is it that no matter how bad I feel ice cream always makes up for it?

Why is it that tonight, of all nights, is the one night there is no ice cream in the house?