Supersonic actuators are slowly building a crescendo in my head.

I was happier then, when my mind was at ease and my balls were firmly connected to my pelvis.

Now, every day seems surreal. Driving to work has become an adventure in itself. The people I know and the people I meet remind me of cardboard cutouts that sprang to life from some strange quarry in the back of my mind.

Then it repeats itself. An incredibly sickening, overplayed mantra that rings true for every one of us: ‘there’s got to be more than this’.

Some people can be incredibly satisfied with what they have. Some people are more than happy to settle for less. Some people know what they want. Some people know what they don’t want.

I don’t want to go thru each day like it doesn’t exist. But I think I’ve come to a point where it doesn’t really make a difference anymore.

I’m so tired.

Living for the moment still seems to be a far better alternative to drawing up a road map.

There is no plan. There’s no method to the madness.

You do what you want because you feel that it’s right.

You do what you want because you feel that you want to.

You do what you want because you feel that you can.

We don’t get many chances to be swept up in whatever moments we find ourselves in.

Maybe it’s time we changed all that.

Belated Deepavali firecrackers are erupting on my street.

They’re really annoying.

I hope they don’t affect my cars.

Uno’s already growing slightly cuckoo from the noise.

For the first time in weeks, I’m actually feeling quite balanced.

(Or just a bit happier.)

I’m a chippy bastard.

For some time or other for these last two weeks, I’ve been wishing for something to spontaneously combust during my day.

I’ve been starting to feel the pull of monotony taking over. What was once drudgery has now evolved into a different kind of beast; a beast where aloofness is the norm, and where the chances of becoming wayward are as slim as a eunuch being tadpole-armed.

I don’t expect excitement to be procured over the course of the immediate future. It’d just be brilliant if I could pull myself out of the hole that I’ve dug. The bright side of all this is that the aforementioned hole is starting to become more shallow by a will of its own.

There’s got to be more than this.

So I’m simply not going to be around anymore.

In my heart
My paper ring
You put it on
And I am king

In my mind
My paper ring
You put it on
And I am king.

I can’t sleep. There’re a million things going on in my head. My usual dosage of slumber-inducing music hasn’t been working the way it usually does.

I’m resigned to listening to my own songs. That usually isn’t a good sign.

All the doubts, fears and thinly-veiled hopes that I’ve had these last few weeks have sprung up simultaneously.

I don’t believe that anyone can be truly happy for too long without realizing what they’ve given up on. You can never totally letting go without paying some kind of price for it.

I believe that I’m doing the right thing; and that this is what I want to do. I can’t be proven wrong, but I can’t prove that I’m right, either.

Whatever happens will happen. That’s undeniable.

But for the first time, I want to fight for something badly enough that it actually makes me get off my fat arse and do it.

I’m not ready to move on without a fight. I don’t care if I’m going down either with a bang or a whimper. I’m not going to take this sitting down; I’m going to bring the mountain to you.

You know that this was going to happen.

There’s not much of a point in turning back now.

I don’t think I’m as obsessed with success as I should be. Most people around me are driven to succeed; it might be some desire to gain a remote semblance of ’stability’. It also might be because it’s regarded as the right thing to do — after all, there’s nothing better than making something out of yourself.

I’ve never felt the urgency to go places. I’ve been perfectly content being aimlessly aimless, and I’ve been happy with how things have been. I’m not saying that I want to stay showered in static all my life — it’s just that I crave and hate anonymity all at once.

Have you ever felt lost about who you are and what makes you tick? A while back (but not too long ago), I always walked around with this inclination that I was set for bigger things. I don’t really know what I think these days.

I’m not sure if I’ve built a cage around myself and whether or not I’m just a jaded little jigga who can’t figure heads or tails between what he wants and what he really wants.

Nobody knows where they’re going; I’m just not really sure I can be bothered to get directions anymore.

Having a game plan terrifies me, most probably because of the effort required to draw one up. I’d sooner just throw something into the wind, wing it from there, and see where it takes me. I suppose it’s this particular approach to things that’ve gotten me into this hole in the first place.

To be fair, it’s not really a ‘hole’ as much as it is a giant Sasquatch footprint; something that doesn’t really exist, yet you can’t totally disprove. I do have a problem; I can easily choose to happily ignore it, but there’s the risk of it always being there.

But, as usual, I digress.

I’ve drawn up a strange schematic that might actually resemble a game plan, and it terrifies me. Being called into action is one thing; after all, you can’t run away from conscription (unless you exile yourself to Canada). But willingly submitting to something as proper as a plan only makes things harder for you — you do so many things with the risk of them not being appreciated.

But apart from being a morose motherfucker, I also pride myself on being incredibly stubborn once I set my mind to something. I can only call it a quality I possess that makes me all the more redeeming.

Of course, whereas some people might consider not taking any advice to be a sign of a higher degree of self-value than anything else, I consider not taking any advice to be a sign that you can stay straight and true to whatever silly objective you had in the first place.

After all, we won’t always get what our hearts desire. But we can surely, surely fucking try.

With that said, I’m about to embark on a relatively strange and alien trip to the center of my head. And I hope that this incredibly cliched passage of self-discovery ends with me being a happier person.

I’m just like Jerry; I know what completes me.

The path to getting it is the bitch.

People around me are dropping like swatted flies and getting hitched. It’s making me uncomfortable, to a degree.

I have an unfounded fear that I’ll be a living, breathing male version of Cathy by the time I’m 37.

The idealist in me would probably want to settle down and rock that domestic vibe, but at the same time, if marriage is one long, never-ending perpetual date, why don’t we all just have one long, never-ending perpetual date?

Times have changed enough that the concept of a marriage is now more of a symbol than anything else; an excuse to throw one large, lavish Chinky dinner party full of 8 course meals, cover bands and cliched PowerPoint slides.

(Something that even I’ll fall prey to, eventually.)

There’s no doubt that I might be ruffling a few feathers here (and getting fewer invitations in the years ahead). And I really am happy for those who’ve taken/are taking/are going to take the proverbial plunge.

Maybe I’m just bitter that everyone around me seems to be moving on and making headway into their lives, while all I want to do is get stoked about clearing GTA IV at 100%.

Maybe I’ve lost sight about the point of it all.

Maybe it’s because I’ve possibly permanently lost my own shot at some kind of happiness.

Maybe it’s all of the above and more.

It’s times like these that make me wish that I have a time travelling machine that runs on kerosene.

I’d use it, and save myself from myself.