My life is half full.
Half empty.
I'm half full.
Half empty.
The week's half here.
Half gone.
I'm half alive.
Half dead.
What sort of catastrophic limbo is this to live in a world so full of halves?
When so easily, too easily, it all can be fixed with the simplest of means?
What sort of unimaginative hell is this?
Half full.
Half empty.
