waiting

This part of my life is called waiting. Waiting for my rocket to come. What to do with the bloody rocket? I really don’t know. Maybe it’ll just go down like some meteorite and fuckin’ blow me to pieces. Or maybe I can ride with it. Induce myself to sleep in a capsule and hibernate to eight years or something while it catapults me into space. I will wake up in Jupiter or perhaps Saturn if the possibilities of Arthur C. Clarke’s A Space Odyssey would allow.

Whatever. I so want to skip this phase. I want to mess the course of time and fuck the rest.