Poor sad Belinda, never quite measured up, never quite obtained the happiness that her family and friends seemed to achieve. She never seemed to be able to control her destiny, never quite making it, never quite getting on top of this thing other people gloriously call their fulfilling lives.
She worked hard at her job, and worked hard on her body, and worked hard on her mind, but none of it ever satisfied her.
The harder she worked, the uglier she got.
The harder she worked, the uglier the world seemed to be.
The harder she worked, the sadder poor, old, sad Belinda became.
The harder she worked, the more everyone around her came to hate her. (she was a bitch, after all)
She achieved a lot, but the more she achieved the more none of it ever satisfied her.
No matter how much she grabbed at it, life just seemed to remain out of her control.
No matter how far you run, Belinda, or how high you jump, for that matter, you'll always find yourself there... with one sibling that hates you.
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