[wrote this 5 minutes ago... just remembered it was Monday, thinking about starting a story like this]
The problem is that people create problems for themselves as if they can’t get enough of their own thrills. Like the way my parents broke up, got back together and then broke up again. Or like the way my uncle can’t stop drinking wine or my sister can’t stop popping pills. It’s because people are sad and can’t deal with it, can’t deal with not being authentic. Can't deal with loneliness. It’s as if it has something to do with where I grew up. How there isn’t anyone with a helping hand and there is no one tucking anyone in at night. It’s all forgettable. Like this. But the point is that I don’t want to go into details about all that and I don’t want you crying over my spilt milk. All this madman stuff has got to end eventually, and we have already milked the last cow. I’m sad, inauthentic, forgettable, lonely and pathetic. But I am alive.
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This feels pretty stream-of-consciousness, but re-reading it, I can see the structure, too. Approval. I think it works well.
"But I am alive" was such an excellent way to end it; it adds a little hope and (however forced) optimism and suddenly makes the narrator three-dimensional.
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