You know the times when you realize that you are an emotional fool? A blithering, slobbering savant who has had a pineapple shoved forcefully down his bottom? Mostly because you have wanted something really (raised to the power really) bad and wished for it with all your heart that the only right thing left to do for life was to bitch slap so hard that your intestines fused with your colon?
Well, I am currently riding a wave of these times. And for not so strange reasons the movie name “I’m a cyborg, but it’s okay” is flashing across the marquee in my head. I really do wish I was a cyborg. Shooting m&m’s and farting out cotton candy. It would be brilliant, much along the lines of Sarah Palin being featured in two cups and one girl. (That woman has a lot of shit backed up in her body.)
I really need to get rid of my dues, sort out my financials for the next 6 months and get that darned tattoo I have been planning to get. I reckon its time. It’s time I leave behind the dream of blissful domestic life.
It’s lot like “Good Luck, Chuck” meets CBSE board issued compulsory essay assignment “Television – Boon or Bane”. Depends really on how I am looking at the glass to be honest. But, as I stay silent on this phone call, I realize, it doesn’t really matter how I look at it, because at the end of the day, when it matters the most…
“I am fucked. Fucked is me.”