When I was young I naively thought that someone might find me when they wracked their brain and thought of who they might like to be. Then I grew up and thought that maybe, at least someone might find me when they thought of who they might like to see. But these days I'd be lucky to be found even by an auto-dial machine, even by a government employee looking to chastise me about book returns or unpaid fees. I struggle to breathe - well - metaphorically, as I weave through life despondently not making this world any better for anybody. Not even me.