I kept telling myself that it was just a while ago when I went on a month-long blogging spree and said (in a super cool, badass low tone a la Batman) “I’m back.”
Of course a quick glance at previous posts will tell you that Batman jammed the brakes on his revolutionary crusade as soon as he announced his return. He ran so fast he didn’t even need a smokescreen. Went
missing straight into hiding for a whole year.
The little person in me and the prick’s nagging whispers has pierced my +5 Cloak of Oblivious. I must make my comeback! I must ignore the temptress on the dark side! I must keep writing!
I took a curious peek into the great Kennysia.com and it seems that he too – with his persistence, determination to stay afloat, and infinite free time that could have been used to do something better – has slowed down with the posts. Can’t blame the guy really. Life happened. It happened to all of us.
We all have our futures to worry about. I need to get another cert, I need to study more, I need to get a job, I need to get married soon, I need to get that report done up for ‘the client’, I need to party and blow off some steam, I need to catch up on my sleep. While we were all busy with “life”, 2 things happened – 1) life sped on and 2) tummies became bellies, double chins became triple chins.
Sure, the only thing ‘the client’ cares about is how hard he’s making you work, not whether you’d be able to run a 2 mile stretch in under 15 minutes or whether you’re spending enough time with the people you care about. Well I’ll put forth the following – would ‘the client’ kneel beside your deathbed and say “I shouldn’t have made you work so hard,”?
I bet my ass your boss wouldn’t give a rat’s fucking ass about that lump that looks suspiciously like a tumor. While you were screaming like a little girl getting kidney stones removed, your client was thinking of ways to make you work harder. I’m sure of that. But hey, that’s life right? Don’t hate the player, hate the game. Like it or not, we’re gonna have to cope. Failure is not an option.
From this day onwards, we’re gonna have to fend for ourselves, defend our turfs.
Life, here we are. Do your worst, bitch.
6: 09 a.m.