Disappointment.

I don't have a name - not really. I'm one of those people you see at the mall, in the parking lot, or in that disgusting public toilet, that you'll never see or think about again.

I live alone, in a small, rented apartment. My only companion is the gold fish that the previous occupant left behind. The one reason it's still alive is that I feel obligated to feed and care for it. In my opinion it would be better off dead. It's existence bears no purpose and I can't believe it's very happy living in it's tiny fish bowl.

My only living relative is a younger brother, living half way across the world, in Asia. Possibly in China or Japan somewhere. We haven't spoken since the funeral of our mother. His name is Jason.

I work as a journalist for a large newspaper. You probably think that it's an interesting job, but the truth is: it's as boring as watching grass grow. Every once in a while I get given a story that makes your eyes pop as you read the title, but anything more than that is unheard of. I've been working there three and a half years now, but I'm sure only two or three people actually know my name.

My boss is the most interesting person in my life. I don't know anyone else well enough for them to be interesting, or else they're just plain boring. He's one of the few that know my name and the only one I spend any time with outside of work hours. His name is Adam.

I met my best friend in university. She's a criminologist and really enjoys her job. She is the most boring person I know. The title can't mean too much though, as I only know a handful of people. Her name is Samantha.

And that's my life in a nutshell. There's more, of course. There will always be more. None of it worth telling, mind you.