The Semicolon's Midlife Crisis

A semicolon walks into a therapist's office and collapses on the couch.

"I just don't know who I am anymore," it sighs. "Periods think I'm too weak to end a sentence properly. Commas think I'm pretentious. The young writers don't use me at all; they just hit enter and start a new paragraph."

The therapist nods sympathetically. "How does that make you feel?"

"Conflicted; torn; uncertain." The semicolon pauses. "See? I can't even describe my feelings without showing off."