Look at that teabag, all confident and headstrong, lounging about in boiling water. Imagine the life of a teabag. Your sole purpose is in the relaxation of kicking back, hanging from a string, and sinking down into the warmth of your destiny. How jealous everyone must be! So smug, little teabag.
You must always watch yourself though, for everyone knows that teabags are most vulnerable in its euphoric comfort. How easy it was for you to forget the stress of your packaged life, living caged for ages and ages after your birth, which essentially was defined by the dismemberment and reconfiguration of materials.
Suddenly you find yourself amidst a chilled puddle of your own sweat. The honeymoon is over. Where is your ego now little teabag?