From today onwards, I will, in my on-going journey to perfection, be more positive in my outlook. Okay, it's not like it's a big step, but those who know me will attest to the fact that I am unfailingly a pessimist. Not any more. From this moment on, I shall be known as Happy Ahmad, much like the Spring-Heeled Jack of fame.
Oh wait a minute. Wasn't that the nickname of Jack the Ripper?
Hmm.. Maybe a positive outlook isn't such a good thing. But I shall nonetheless give it a go. Anything's better than this angst-driven existence that I call a life. Heck. Maybe I'm too old for angst. I think at some point in time, angst simply ceases to be cool and becomes rather like that 45-year-old guy with a pot belly living in his mom's apartment still thinking he's the man but with nothing to show for it apart from a couple of bed-sores and a dream of greatness, dreams that seem to drift further and further away from him as if swept by a river unseen, as the lonely nights pile up on top of him like clods of earth being thrown into a grave, suffocating, blinding, deafening silence of his own anger.
Yeah. That's the spirit. The first step to recovery is accepting that you have a problem. But I'm not that 45-year-old guy of course. I think he'd be the future version of me, if I don't kick off this habit of feeding off my anger. Either that, or I could be the next Robert Graves, or perhaps even Siegfried Sassoon. Unlikely though, unless I learn to write better.
Note to self: Stop hating your future landlord.
Current read: Black Death to the Industrial Revolution: A socio-economic history of Britain
Current mood: Pissed and Bored.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
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