on misery

don't ask me why. but i'm the kind of guy to whom everyone (especially girls, go figure) tell everything. and i mean everything. okay, they usually don't get laid with me, and i guess that's because they tell me everything about them, dunno, that's a sad story, not really worth mentioning. anyway. most of times, people talk with me about their misery. about what has left them down. about what makes them feel miserable. and it eases me. it really does. it's not that it makes me feel better. someone else's misery doesn't make me less miserable, mind you. it just makes me forget, even for a short while, of the stinky pool where i dwell day after day. and that - pure oblivion - is something priceless.