Prose before hos

I've spent about a month revisiting The Office in an attempt to get off this funk overpowering me. It's grown on me like a layer of mold. Anything I do, see, touch, taste or feel tires me out and drains the life out of me. I have a few theories on why what and how this could be helped, but I'd spare those theories my words.

For now, my record breaking attempt at staying in bed and catching up on Michael Scott and Dwight Schrute's relationship has been positively stimulating.



Here's what I'm emulating-

"You know I used to think that I had this perfect person out there waiting for me, but knowing that, that's just silly because she's dead. What do you do?"

"You wait until next year's chair catalog comes out and you find someone who's still alive."

"Oh, you move on."

"Yeah."

Eleven years ago, in the same neighbourhood as where I'm plonked at the moment, I wrote my first blog post. Snobster Dot Blogspot Dot Come was live on this date in 2007. On a rush to head to the tuition centre manned by a she-dragon, I was shitting bricks about the homework I should have done the night before. Today, I'm at work. Clearly, not doing the best job whilst being at it.

In these eleven years, I have jumped from red bricks to red salute, gained weight and lost some, contracted a few never heard of diseases for my age bracket (chickenpox at 26 was diggity bomb) and having done things no civil person should have indulged in, in public.

What I am saying is, there's no stopping. There's no growing up. There's only fucking things up royally and learning from there (no making out in public view- for one).

Last year, I promised myself to give my body and lifestyle the same amount of attention as I did to reading and writing for the ten years that elapsed. After dropping a few kilos (17, betch) and finding out that I possess a collarbone after all, I am here. Stuffing my face with sugar and celebrating this day.

Here's to another year of fucking this shit up and hoping there's one person who reads all about it and never brings it up to my face.

A PhD synopsis defended successfully.

Two complete cycles around the Sun whilst being gainfully employed.

Two new cookbooks enroute.

17 kilos of body weight down.

 Life's on the fifth gear, in the fifth month of the year. I'm not complaining.