Saturday, January 02, 2010
Facing the same pc on the same internet cafe when I wrote my yearend blog seems kinda weird. And now I'm writing a sort of opener to 2010. Not that it's actually necessary but I'm bored as hell and nursing this fantastic toothache that has been pissing me off for weeks, on and off. It's a different tooth now and while I was contemplating a removal this January, it would seem that I would lose a whole bunch of them. Jeez, I don't want that, but I swear I would have one of them removed at least this month. That seems to be a resolution of sorts. Well, count me as one of those who find it really corny as hell. I mean, who are we kidding, really? New year resolutions gave a whole new meaning to targets as goals that will end up unaccomplished in the end. Instead of promising to the high heavens you'll be good as a saint, which you probably won't, why not target something so practical like saving 1 peso a day. That seems corny as hell but not remotely possible, you would agree. Oh, I have tons of things I would promise myself too to do this year, like read more, slowly finish watching the DVDs I've bought that have been stored for ages, and yes, save. And one more thing, I will try to gamble a little, not the Las Vegas-type of course because obviously that would make me more destitute that what I am now and given that I don't really have the knack for it, but I would try my luck in certain legitimate means like playing the lotto and its relatives, which I realized are more than one chances of winning. Always prompt me into daydreaming, you know. Which I immediately cut off because as they say, it's bad to count the chicks before the eggs are hatched, or something like that. Oh, well.
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?