You know what hits me tonight?

Not the bills.

Not the noise.

Not even the existential dread that rolls in around 8:30 PM like a drunk uncle.

It’s this:

We forget to say thank you.

Not the cutesy, social-media-gratitude-journal-hashtag stuff.

No.

I mean the real one.

The quiet one.

The one that actually matters.

“Thank You for another day of life.”

No guarantee.

No warranty.

No fine print escape clause.

Just one more sunrise you didn’t earn but got anyway.

Say thanks for that.

Daily. Bare minimum.

Then comes the tribe —

Family. Friends.

Even the ones who push every button you’ve got,

grind your gears,

and have you questioning if homicide is technically taxable.

Be thankful for them too.

They’re yours.

They’re imperfect.

They’re part of your story.

And the basics?

Food.

Water.

A roof that only leaks when the universe feels cute and chaotic.

You’ve got the essentials.

Never take them for granted.

Some people pray for what you already have sitting in your fridge.

Life gets grim, no doubt.

It swings hard, sucker punches harder,

and sometimes steps on your throat just to show off.

But you —

yeah, you —

you keep getting up.

You dust off.

You move forward like a stubborn, scrappy miracle with attitude.

So tonight, be thankful.

Tomorrow, be thankful.

And every damn day after, at least say the words once.

It’s not cheesy.

It’s survival.

It’s soul maintenance.

Peace and love, you heathens.

Stay dirty. Stay grateful. Stay alive.

— Saint Dirty Face