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.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t maintain a relationship, even when I’m in one.  You can either call it wanderlust or foolhardyness, but I’m always one knows a good thing when he sees one…who then proceeds to ruin it for himself.  Maybe it’s my inability to resist the urge to tear things apart and go gonzo over life.  Why throw a dice?  Only two things can happen when you jump into a turdpile, and both conclusions deny you the privilege of coming out and smelling like a rose.

I just want to have fun.  I’ve got my life ahead of me, and I don’t see what’s wrong with taking a year off from being Chinese.  The game plan that I’d laid down for myself eons ago hasn’t come into fruition, and I’ve repeatedly declared my nonchalance.

Ah.  My weak, meek heart.  I fall easily, and I fall hard.  There’s nothing more enticing than a set of great eyes and a good head on a shoulder.  It doesn’t take that much to sway me off my feet; it’s the thrill of the swaying that most guys live for.  And, in all honesty, I’m no different.  There’ve really been only three people I could openly admit having true feelings for.  And I don’t really know if there’d be a fourth.

I can’t settle for less.  But I won’t settle for nothing.  I think it’s easier to just walk into something and lay down the terms so that nobody gets disappointed or confused.  Relationships are a negotiation.

I’m supposed to know better and learn from my past mistakes.  I can’t really gauge how well I’ve done that.  All I can do now is to live for the moment and to jump from one sinking ship to the next, in the hopes that one of them will have its holes plugged up.  Ah.

What a metaphor.

Feh.

At that time where my parents are probably flirting with the idea of having grandchildren, I’m still trying my best to get Chun Li to notice me from behind the screen.

Priorities?

What priorities?

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.

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.

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.

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.

Oh, what a night.