Last of the Deserters

I’m miserable. It isn’t really any surprise, but I’ve suddenly begun to feel it hard. All the years of barely caring about most of the people I’ve known have finally come to fruition now that I have no one left beside me. I feel more alone than ever but I cannot bring myself to keep returning to old company; the change was always inevitable. From my point of view, this is just me being honest. If I can’t take the company, I would rather not fake it either.

After a whirlwind year during which things only kept looking better, in keeping with all universal laws of gravitation, conservation and order, the post-climactic decline has begun. The answer, the solution to stem the descent, lies in my own hands, within tightly clenched fists. Like with a sleeping infant, the fingers need to be pried open gently but with sufficient intent to let out the light. It’s just harder to open the fingers when they’re your own and something inside you is constantly labouring to keep them shut. Stories of inspiration provide momentary succour but eventually wash off as they would off the feathers of a mallard. Instead, recent months have seen the rise of new demons, self-imposed solitude, unhealthy eating and a blatant drop in work efficiency and the very desire to excel. I know where I am heading because I have already lived there and a second visit is most undesirable. The return journey this time will undoubtedly be much harder.

Memories of stagnant relationships and decaying friendships are a few of the many destructive components that make a disturbed mind. Discord between the heart and brain doesn’t help either. Even if I know what I have to do to stand back up, the willpower to make it so is conspicuous in its absence. Sloth is a cancerous vice awaiting a challenger. At a time like this, although I wouldn’t admit it under interrogation, I need a hand that will point me in the right direction and training wheels to keep me from falling while I get back on the path. I need a goal. I need to find a little humility and start working again. The recent high has left me literally high up on a horse so that my focus has been replaced by complaisance and maybe even a contempt for what helped me get this far. Ungrateful and now ashamed. I need all those things that one can recommend… I need a hobby, I need sport, I need motivation, I need to be decisive, I need to re-assess my priorities, I need a breath of fresh air, I need to get away from it all, I need a new perspective.
I need to go out and get hammered.

I need a companion.


When the time comes to choose between what is right and what is easy… I can’t complete the sentence exactly because of what the first part states. I know what the right answer should be, but at the same time I can see that it is not what I’m doing these days so choosing the right answer will not be short of hypocrisy.

Speaking of time, Time is the greatest thief ever. It comes and goes without sound or warning but claims what it wants at will. No amount of safeguard will be enough; this thief cannot be seen, cannot be stopped and what it takes can never be regained. That however, does not stop my reminiscing of the age when matters were simple. When innocence was a virtue to be treasured. When demons only existed under beds and in fairy tales, easily banished by the flick of a light switch.
I don’t generally display much affection for children, but looking at them takes me back to when I was so wide eyed, wild haired and ever chasing the elusive “something shiny”. If I knew right then what I know now, those days would have been so much more precious while I spent them. But, as I once heard a seemingly wise lady say, while walking in the Petrified Forest, “You always tend to look back in retrospect”. I could have died laughing.


Madonna – Take A Bow
Metallica – Enter Sandman