So there we have it. The event I've been meaning to mark for the longest time and I clean forgot it.
It's been just over a year since we've been making whining noises on the internet. Has there been a difference? I think it's fairly telling, how it's gone from, "Jesus H. Dissatisfied with life. Mope mope snivel oh whatever shall I do," to "It's 1am. Somebody tell me where the fuck the time went."
I scare myself with how different I've become. Not necessarily better. Just different. And it's interesting how the old self fights it, re-asserts control when facing drop-dead familarity. Bordering bloody schizo, that's what it is.
Though I must say, not neccessarily a bad thing. It's the day and age where having some sort of mental disorder makes you sexier. Got to have most of it set up first, though. Dark, broody, furrowed brow, stubble and everything. Then it's got to be the right sort of disorder. Schizophrenia's quite up there. The whole cannotcontrolangerMUSTKILLNOW gig also applicable. Nothing sexy about fat, bald forty-somethings who spend the day thinking they're chickens.
But yes, I think I'll only hit sexy if I'm dead and presented in front of necrophilic coroner. I do cute pretty well, but we all know that doesn't get you laid.
Here we go, then:
Happy anniversary to me
I've grown a little less creepy
And hopefully 'fore I'm deeeeeeeaaaad
I'll be able to get...
Yes, well. Here's to me not getting fat in seven years.
...two-person joke, that one. Gotta work on that repertoire.
Cheers.
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