There Is No 30!

I am an overgrown man-child. I take a look at all my friends, and they’ve accomplished so much, while I’ve somehow managed to regress back into a bum who stays at home to earn his dollar.

Sadly, everyone else is envious of me, and I have to admit – I can understand why.

But as I move further forward into the foreboding future, I’m still wondering if I can really live up to my own expectations for what my future holds.

I’m waiting on the grey hairs to start pecking me.

There’s not enough irony on Planet Gazza.

Let’s be straight here: I make a very bad friend.  I tend to forget details, I don’t follow up on how you’re doing, and I’d probably wouldn’t give a toss if you were getting married (unless I really knew you — otherwise I’d avert myself from even remotely appearing to receive an online invitation to your overly Chinky wedding).

I’m also someone who tries his best to forgive (but not forget), although that hasn’t exactly been working out too well.  I think I’m still trying to find a semblance of normalcy in life, but I’m still getting withdrawl symptoms — I’m still fumbling my way through learning how to properly fumble my way through things.

I think these few elements have led me to procrastinate a lot — I can’t get out of bed excitedly anymore, and I’d rather be late for work by 15 minutes due to the urge for a morning wank.

Nobody’s perfect.

But I think I’m doing better.  Relatively, anyway.

It’s a Sunday, and I’m half-past happy and indifferent.



Eight Rules For Cynics in Love.

I can be an incredibly emotional mess at very odd times.  I attribute it to my belief in unicorns, silver elephants and rainbows.  Especially rainbows.  Which is strange, because you wouldn’t have to believe in rainbows based on the simple fact that they’re real.


These last few months have sort of been met by a topsy-turvy mehness that can’t really be remedied.  I’ve tried everything — stout, cigarettes, video gaming and watching that Sarah Marshall movie countless times.  And since I doubt that I’d be dropping any of these vices anytime soon (especially that last one), I’ve come up with a sporadic list of rules that we can all protect ourselves with in the light that we’re all true cynics at heart…a role that I’m sort of relishing at this precise moment.

Rule #1: There is no such thing as The One. That person of your dreams will be taken away from you, be it through a strange, Bizarro version of yourself, or death.  You should never try to extend yourself more than what is feasible, because there’s no way to measure the efficacy of someone being the one.  Which leads us to….

Rule #2: Never fully invest yourself into someone. Save a bit of space for yourself, because there’s no way that opposing forces can gently brake in the middle.  Everyone’s got their limits.  And someone is bound to take a bigger chunk of you away, rather than vice versa.  This point should be underscored by a tenfold for romantic sobs like me.  Which, then leads to…

Rule #3: If a siren goes off in your head, walk away. There might be an incredibly, incredibly dodgy situation that you have to back yourself out of.  Maybe they eat their boogers too often.  Maybe they sniff their freshly trimmed-off toenails.  If something feels wrong, then be fleet-footed and head for the double doors.  It’d save you time.  And a good deal of grief.

Rule #4: Never admit to someone that you love them.  Even if you do. Let them say it first.  Because once that’s out in the open, at least there’s a strange consensual mumbo-jumbo chemistry dab of feeling there that you’ve got a foundation to build a vague future on.  Hold on to admitting your feelings — because, well, frankly, feelings die.  And so will you.

Rule #5: Sex makes everything great; but don’t have too much of it. It’s true.  What happens after  your endless bonking?  Are you really prepared to take a leap of faith into figuring out if there could be anything more meaningful?  Half of us fall into the category of people who’re willing to make things work.  And the other half, well…that leads us to:

Rule #6: Make your partner work for you. Regardless of whether it’s a physical thing, or if it’s a emotional thing — I feel that I’ve let some people down previously, but likewise, I’ve been let down as well.  It just happens.  But you have to take the reins once in a while and be the better man.  Um.  Woman.  Whatever.

Rule #7: When two people want to do something, then they’re just going to do it. Doesn’t mean that things will be better in the morning.  But, y’know, just do it.  Things might work out great.  (I feel incredibly undignified to myself for saying this, though.)

Rule #8: Don’t attempt to wake people up from whatever weird catatonic state they’re in. Just be a douche and assume that you really are a better person.  Because if they can simply change their minds and hop onto the next train without considering the amount that you’re willing to give, you’re obviously bound for a rock bottom experience sooner.  Just wish them the best, tell them to fuck off and just go along your merry way of assembling a crew to topple some East European dictatorship.  You’ll feel better soon enough.

These are rules that I’m going to try to live by — the fun part is that I’m the one who’s setting them.

Cover yourself.  It’s a lot easier that way.

I’m Scared of My Fingers In The Sand.

Imagine issuing yourself an ultimatum by drawing a line in the sand, on some gorgeous beach with (naturally) a stunning view of an endless ocean.

Now, everything sounds good, doesn’t it?  Aside from that line in the sand, which is a conspicuous sign that something’s gone amiss.

That line in the sand is by far the most annoying metaphor that anyone could (forgive the phrase) draw up.  Crossing that line can mean a lot of things — it can signify taking up a challenge, it can signify dropping 20 kilograms of weight in 3 months, and it can even signify quitting smoking for a viable period to keep your health back on track.

The annoying thing about crossing that line is the fact that if you don’t hold up to whatever self-inflicted obligation you cooked up, you’ll probably feel bad for a few moments before reverting into some oblivious, catatonic state of nonchalance.

And it’s true — we as people simply don’t feel bad enough to…well, feel bad.

I can admit that I’ve drawn a fair share of lines in my life, and I’ve crossed them, only to cross back.  I’ve continuously let myself down, and I’ve failed at maintaining whatever pace I had to leap across the fucking thing in the first place.

I have a serious passion for failing myself.  And of making things worse.

Which is why I don’t know what to do.  Some people would ask what the use in trying would be, and I’d probably shoot off that the fact that I tried counts the most.

Doesn’t it?

Why don’t we just focus more on the desired result, as opposed to just leaping/jumping/walking/crawling over that line?

I think it’s  because we’re all scared to commit to what comes after that.

I know I am.  I’m pretty fucking terrified.