I Hate This Fucking Place

I, however, love bubble wrap.
(In an entirely non-creepy way.)

They seem to be here again.

To the best of my memory, I had promised my readers, if any, a substantially long post the last time I had posted. At the very outset of this entry, I would like to make something very clear, it being my firm belief that it is my duty to keep my readers, if any, informed.

This is not the long entry I was talking about.

In fact, this post, if it goes even loosely according to plan, should probably end up being another very short one. The long post shall have to wait some more. I have it all worked out in my head, but I haven't actually begun writing it out as yet, for reasons that I shall now proceed to specify.

The majors are here again. They shall start in less than a week. I am running out of time. There isn't too much of it left. Time is, to put it rather tersely, short, and there is much work to be done.

These new developments have resulted in somewhat curtailing the flexibility I once enjoyed in matters of time. From this moment onwards, in case of any free time that I get, precedence will be given over blogging to sleeping and eating. And studying.

I shall, therefore, be writing less often, and most of my posts will be short.

Also, I am hopelessly in love with Emma Watson.

Good Night.

Procrastination

I'd thought I'd post tonight. I had a lot to write about. I sat to write about what I had to write about. But then I realized I didn't feel much like writing.

So, the next long post shall have to wait.

In the meantime, I leave you with but a quote.

"It matters not whether you win or lose; what matters is whether I win or lose."
-- Darrin Weinberg

And did they get you to trade

Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?

Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange

A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

It's been quite a while

One year in fact. One year of publishing insane drivel online. One year of indiscriminate writing. One year of irresponsible, yet, at times, highly entertaining prose, as well as some very odd and mind-bogglingly dull poetry. One year, in short, of doing what I do best. Act like an ass.

It's been a fun year, nevertheless. I've written about people and things I wouldn't dare talk about otherwise. Lots of people and things have, as a result, taken offence to what I have written over the past year. To them, I would like to apologize, not so much to the people as to the things, for people are dispensable, and there doesn't seem to be too much of a shortage around.

The blog's done well for itself. It has been quoted extensively and at the most unfortunate times and places. It's gotten me into trouble. Lots of it. And on more than one occasion. It's seen a lot of traffic; 200 visitors on some days, and 20 on most others. In all fairness to it, it has fulfilled most of the purposes it was set up for, and a good deal more for which it wasn't. What's most important is that it has, for the past year, constantly been there. It's been with me through the good times and, more importantly, the slightly longer bad ones. It hasn't run away like most of the people I know tend to, after a while.

I know it hasn't been in very good shape lately, what with all the one-line posts and fake poetry, but I do believe that it'll stick around for a little bit more.
For now, that's good enough for me.

The Genius of the Hole

No matter how long you spend climbing out, you can still fall back down in an instant.