I pre-ordered an iPhone despite balking at its…common-ness.  I think a part of me thinks that being uncool is actually cool, and that being one of the masses who’ve clinched it will make me cool [out of the uncoolness of the situation].

Besides, it’s not like I really have to collect it.

I’m quite ashamed of myself now.

And what’m I going to do with my Touch, if I do actually get the phone?

Bah.

A woman will always do her best to effectively and efficiently disassociate herself with a hindrance.  She might feign discontent, disgust, disappoint, discord and despair (among other things) to drive the message home that whatever it is, it’s simply not working out.

A good amount of this feigning might be done for the greater good (in her mind, at least), but that leaves out one small, yet outstanding detail: the person whom the disassociation would affect the most.

I’m startled by the high potential for a quick and easy disenfranchisement of emotions and bonds to materialize.  It’s unfair.  It’s uncouth [even if it's done with a velvet glove].  And in certain respects, it’s unholy.

Yes.  I’m fucking bitter right now.  I still don’t know how to deal with these things.  I’m a 27 year old boy; now, even more so.

Countless books, guides and literature on how to get through these things have been written.  I really should read them, but there’s this narcissistic quality about me that I like.  It endears me to the world at large, and to that audience in my head.

I’m not taking this very well.  I feel ashamed of my lack of maturity in handling such an issue.

Ah, but what the fuck, eh?  I always told you that I was a hypocrite.

Let me be the bastard.  Let me take the blame.  I’m simply not good enough.

You didn’t articulate it, but I’m sure it was at the tip of your tongue.

I don’t know how someone can disassociate herself so quickly from something that could be heartblindingly positive.  But, fortunately, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to mumble my way through it.  I’m on a streak of sorts.

How’d you really feel?

I’ll never really know.

And this will be the last time that this”ll be mentioned here.

Maybe.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s so hard to spread universal joy and peace.  But it is, isn’t it?  Especially when you dig a little deeper and wonder about why it’s so hard for everyone to be content with being…content.

That’s the way the world works, I suppose — everyone’s selfish, even that holy fellow by the altar there.  There’s got to be some sort of a nth degree of imperfection, no?

A few days back, I was listening to Lennon on the car stereo and it hit me — spreading universal love and joy isn’t really that hard to do.  It just takes a lot of willing members to create a movement that basically will overpower all the cynical people in the world.  However, it hit me even harder when I realized that I was one of those morose, cynical souls.

Shame on me.

What spurs you on to be a better person?  There’s got to be some sort of a drive, a force, that leads you upon that path.

It’s not that hard to be nice.

I guess it’s being consistently nice that’s tricky.

I’m a nice guy.

Let’s face it.  I’m a sucker for wholesome, Midwestern goodness.  I’d probably be the only urbanite who’d wish that he was part of the Bible Belt.

I don’t like the thought of littering, and despite my outward abrasiveness towards it, I appreciate hard work, and I like to consider myself as someone with a good set of morals and values.  I get warm and fuzzy whenever I see old couples holding hands, and despite being constantly annoyed by them, I tend to adore children, up to a point where I’d willingly make a monkey out of myself just to amuse them.

The thing is, despite all this grandstanding about how much of a model citizen I could possibly be, I am still, and always will be, a bastard.  I’ve done things that I haven’t been too proud of; I haven’t really appreciated people and given them the proper respect that they deserve.  We do time for crimes committed; I’d be so daring to say that I should be put into the slammer based on the number of people that I’ve slagged off over the years.

I don’t really know if I bend over backwards to be accommodating these days because it’s what Karma wants me to do.  I don’t know if I crave for a direction because I was sorely in need of one much earlier.  I don’t know if I want to gush everybody with joy and happiness because I was once incredibly bitter.  I don’t know if the perfect situation keeps on slipping out of my hands nowadays because I never made the most of my past opportunities.

I don’t know if I’m prone to destroy everything on a whim because I really choose to.  Maybe self-destruction can be controlled with great restraint.  I don’t know.

I’m sitting here, idly typing this, and I somehow realize that despite it all, there’s this part of me that wants to be detached.  I want to shut down, close off, pack up and be left alone.  I want to be a cold, unfeeling [yet infernal!] machine that constantly disappoints, aggravates and agitates.

I haven’t really started applying my ‘best’ to change the course of things.  But I will, eventually.

One day, my arms will be flailing uncontrollably, excited at the prospect of an incredibly bright, glaring, blinding future.

But for tonight, I just want you to know that I want you to be okay.  It’s a relatively simple wish, really.

I just don’t know how to tell you this.

I need another major readjustment.

I’m a little over 2 weeks away from surviving a quarter life crisis, but to be honest with you, although my doubts have been waylaid to some strange cavern at the back of my head, I still feel as if there’s a lot of work left to do.  Life is a work in progress — there’s no running away from trying to fix it.  And of course, there’s always the issue of having to fix ourselves in the process.

I don’t think I’m a nice person.  I genuinely think that my sole purpose for living is to be a secondhand scoundrel.  I’ll never be able to take the mantle of Reggie Mantle, but I’ll always be his understudy.  This isn’t some cliched form of self-loathing; I honestly believe that I can only cause problems for those who enter into my bubble of a world.  And quite a lot of people have come in.

Of course, this could be me talking after only having four hours of sleep last night.  It depends, really.

There were a few separate, unrelated occasions these last few days where I was labelled as ‘nice’.  I despise ‘nice’.  It’s as bland as spam (although I kind of like spam).  It’s vanilla (though I really do quite fancy the flavour).  At the end of the day, all I am to people is this white-bread, comic-guzzling potential pothead who loves everyone.

Though there’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose.

It’s just that I have to try to break some preconceived notions, and I have no idea where to start.  Or if it’s even possible.

I still don’t know who I am yet.  It’s not set in stone.

I’m too much of a mix for my own good.

I don’t know where I’m going.

Oh, well.

There’re varying degrees of ease in reading people.  A poker face can only be a poker face as long as it stays a poker face; otherwise, it’s really just somebody who’s a crowning depiction of constipation at its finest.  People are naturally stubborn — that’s a given.  However, there’s a difference between sticking to your guns and being an idiot.  We’re all guilty of the latter — it just depends on how quick we are to amend that slight defect.

We’re all idiots.  That’s got to be said.  We also have a high tolerance for pain.  We perform better under duress.  We perform better when we create the duress.  However, our constant reminders to ourselves about taking time out to take a breath fall onto deaf ears…namely, our own.

I have an aptitude to push myself into different directions simultaneously to see what happens.  I know that I should stop doing that and stick to one course as oppose to creating thirty uncharted ones, but the possibilities are endless.  And I’m a big fan of limitless possibilities, even if they result in me vomiting my heart out into a urinal at 5 in the morning.

Nobody loves a quitter!

It’s hard to stay positive when all you want is for everything around you to crumble so that you can toss it up even more.

But life loves gluttons, in all shapes and sizes.

I want to start a fight with myself.  I hope that on a fine weekend morning in the near future, I awaken to find my evil twin at the foot of my bed, mocking me.  He’d berate me for all the things that I find lacking in myself.

Fickle.

Slow.

Dawdling.

Fidgety.

Impatient.

A list.  A list would spew forth from his mouth, and then he’d charge at me and push me through the wall, into my neighbour’s soon-to-be-completed monstrousity of a renovated landed property.  We’d battle it out in this skeleton of a home.  I’d take him by the scruff of his neck, and repeatedly crush him into the pillars, thus destroying the foundation of the house and having the ceiling collapse on top of us.

When the dust would settle, we’d duke it out for a little while longer, before he’d have the upper hand and use leverage against me, pulling me over and impaling me on a protruding pylon.

He’d then take my identity, and be the guy that I never could be.

I wish this would happen.  Because I look at myself now and I feel incredibly confused.  And if the clone can set things straight, then be it as it may.  Take my name and make me great.

You’re going to make a king of me.

It doesn’t matter who you vote for; as long as you do. Having the right to elect your public officials, no matter what post they’re vying for, is a privilege.

With that said, it’s a shame that everything’s in the shits right now. I don’t quite understand how you can be an Independent with Barisan leanings. It’s essentially a political engagement — a quickie that somehow squirms its way into something more. Then again, I suppose a silver lining to this would be the fact that they were weeded out in the end.

The continuous mud-slinging from both sides isn’t doing any good for the people; yet I despise the way in which the newly formed Majority was minted. And I’m quite sure that some Perakians are incredibly uncomfortable with the chain on events. This is hardly a ‘Party For the People’. Nobody wanted them there in the first place.

The ‘People’ in question have been cheated. Are they going to be given the chance to opt for a fair fight?

It’s hard to be impartial. And it’s hard to want to give a chance to a motley crew of blank-shooting wankers.

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.

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.