Don't tell me I'm alive

The whole "You should be happy because at least you're alive" deal never worked well on me. Frankly, I can't imagine this reality to be the best situation in the entire universe and in all of the dimensions there must be. I could try and change my perspective into something that is more "half full" but then I would have to believe that being on Earth at this very moment, typing into this computer, is the best of all possible worlds. Maybe this world is the best of them all, sitting here in this good karma depleted country staring at my faint cellulite? LOL! That would be a lie, wouldn't it? Sure it's better than starving but it's surely not better than being dead. I don't say that because I am suicidal, I say that because there is no way for anyone to know what happens after death. And really, if you want to look at it the way I do sometimes, I am optimistic in the most backwards of ways. I know that there is better than this. It keeps me alive! It keeps me searching! Death, though, well... telling me that I am alive doesn't make me feel any better. It doesn't fill me with vitality. It doesn't get me through the day without thoughts of revolution, or not scowling as I look at my morning hair or tasting that grilled cheese any differently. I know I am alive, folks, and it doesn't make a difference to me. So you don't need to remind me. Just play some Miles Davis and serve me a martini, please.