Your own life and opening lines to Dickens novels

I've been a fan of Chuck Dickens since I read Oliver Twist in junior high. However, it recently occured to me that the way he started A Tale of Two Cities has kind of lost its poignancy now that we all seem to think our lives are melodramas and soap operas. "It was the best of times , it was the worst of times..."- isn't that all the time? When I say that, I'm assuming that a lot of other people in 21st century America share my problem of expecting thrills from real life, and getting, well, real life, and ending up disappointed. Don't think I'm entirely pointing the finger at movies here; I don't want to sit through two hours of the stuff that a real human should actually expect to encounter as they go through life, the waiting, the irrelevant details, the complicated people. What I want is to personally change in such a way that I totally believe this: it's better that I'm flesh and blood and spirit, and not someone's intellectual concoction that exists for the sake of entertainment.

I think I've gone back and forth from feeling really frustrated to having an eerie and surreal peace about a hundred times in the past two weeks. Perhaps not the best or the worst of times, but they get honorable mentions or something. Dare me to summarize?

First of all, there's the single most important relationship I have, me and God, and we've been getting along well lately, except for maybe today so far. But, when that's going well, there's really nothing that can run you off the road. Second, I'm still making easy money at UPS. What a sweet job, they pay me to keep a truck on the interstate for an hour and a half, get a workout for 40 minutes, and then stay awake for the drive back. It's just like stealing. Lastly, I've probably just lost a war that could have turned into my own personal Vietnam.
Sometimes I wonder what we'd be like as a nation if we had given up in Vietnam in 1965. Definitely, things would be different; maybe, things would be better. Certainly, we would not know what we know now, and certainly, hundreds of thousands of Americans and Vietnamese would still be alive. I think most would do well to see what happens if they ever get a chance to change the way we did things as a nation back then.

Right now, I'm still kinda hung up on the losing part. Rejection sucks. There's just no way to make it easier to handle. It's for real this time. I saw a winnable war ahead, she sees Vietnam. I'm going to be sore for awhile because what I realize that she doesn't seem to is that the only way to know what kind of war it is is to fight it. But whatev, I guess. If courage came easily, they wouldn't call it a virtue. So now I guess it my turn again to show my own.

Right after this angry poem, that is.

Dearest Cheslie, to what shall I compare thee?
Thou art like the sun
Because you burn careless idiots like myself.

Dearest Cheslie, to what shall I compare thee?
Thou art like I-494
Because youre always too frickin busy to take anywhere during peak hours
*and* I can count on you to make me 30 minutes later than I should be.

Dearest Cheslie, to what shall I compare thee?
Thou art like Qwest
Because when I try to settle something with you, you put me on hold for a long-ass time
and then hang up on me anyway without giving me an honest chance to negotiate.

Okay, break is over, I'm ready to be an adult about this again. Over and out.