I spent Friday night realizing that I’m bound to have a lot on my mind these next few weeks.  The idea of having the ‘tireless soul of an artist’ might come to realization soon.  Some people might say that running away is obviously a coward’s key to living; I fully agree.  But I never claimed to be a brave bear, although I have to admit that I should rightfully see what I’ve started to the bitter end — if only because it’s righteous.

[I usually hide my non-existent Christianty by harping about how I don't have to show God how much I love Him because living righteously is a great way of giving Him the slip.]

I’m rather happy that I still have the urge…strike that…I’m quite happy that I still have the will to want to make a change.  I’d usually be a complacent cow and take things as they are, but the fact that I’m flirting with the thought of reining in a catalyst for change is a sign that I’m starting to really think.

I only wish that I could think like that more often.  It’s getting easier for me to get swayed by a consensus, rather than my conscience; it doesn’t help that my conscience is seldom clear.

So, yeah: why don’t I throw a prospective curveball into the mix and see how it goes?

** * * * * * *

I saw a quick recap on the news about this.  The source of the report may be a bit biased, but focus more on the story than who’s behind it.

I think I’m growing old in a sense that it outright saddens me to take a look at conflict between different people.  The EDL have every right to state their case and represent their fears, but some might see it as scarily extremist behaviour.  It’s very iffy.  I’m always behind a moderate stance [fencesitting is a smart Chinese thing to do!], so I can only say that the Leftists have every right to be miffed at the EDL.  Is the EDL a league full of fear mongerers, or is their case really justified?

After all, when your doors are open wide, anyone can come in.  You don’t even need to place a Welcome mat.

The times are not changing.  Not anytime soon.

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.

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 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.

Everyone has to move on sometimes.

I’m getting ready to retire an old friend.

And I’m ready to unleash a new one out upon the world.

If only some things were this easy.

This is life.

Life imitates art.

Or, at least, I’m hoping that it does.

There’s a scene that keeps repeating itself in my head.

Looking at it now, the closer I get to it, the less likely it’ll occur.

But I’ve still got to do it. It’s taking a leap of faith.

A massive leap; not as much faith.

Don’t worry…it’s no cause for concern on your part.

What I’m doing should only be saved for the schmaltziest of storylines.

Then again, this is life.

And life imitates art.