paperback writer
new year, new semester, same philosophy on life

Every January, every May, every calendared chance given me to start my life over, begin anew, wipe the slate clean, and any number of adages, I return to my abandoned philosophy. Fuck it. It tastes so good on the tongue, like power and resolve and that fierce defiance we all wish we had inherent in our trembling shoulders and spines. Fuck it.

But it's like Communism: a good idea on the outside, but only when you don't consider your own weaknesses and inabilities to follow the system on good principle. It feels good to say you're not going to care: not going to worry about the little things.... or maybe only focus on the small enjoyments and leave the big worries you have no control over to run their course. Maybe this time you'll let nothing ruffle you this year/semester/pay period because you're just going to be carefree and love life for the short gift it is. It all sounds so good and solid and doable, doesn't it?

I fool me every time.

So I raise my glass to another semester. Another year. Another happy lie. Fuck it. Fuck it all. In fact, it can fuck itself. No work on my part.

Staying positive is the most important key to lying to yourself, and lying is the greatest gift you can give to an optimist. It's a self-perpetuating cycle and I love it.

The current mood of bratnatch at
FIN. 8:07 p.m., Sunday, Jan. 29, 2006

ink :: graphite

flipping pages
take note
A work in Aberration.