Monday, April 14, 2008

Groan.

My day so far has been so terribly exciting that I've been compelled to regroup the contacts on my Messenger list.

It's also been mind-numbingly sedate.

But, granted, I'm savouring it for what it is. I don't think I'll ever have a first day of work like this for a long time more.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Back at none.

The sensation of repeatedly starting from scratch is bizarre. Six years are spent before getting to the top of the food chain in primary school, only to make your way through five years of high school and do it all over again. Once that's done, you become a fish in a bigger pond when the tertiary years come knocking; once that's over, you're let loose into the wild to swim in the proverbial sea.

I can't really say that I achieved too much while in university, but at the very least, I'd gained some infamy and a reputation of sorts; the problem now is attempting to clutch to what little sparkle I had and maintain it as the new kid in the office.

Or, I could become the mother of reinvention. Again.

Either way, I've returned to the back of the grid; it's not a good feeling.

Labels:

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Precog hog.

I don't quite like countdowns; after all, a countdown is a glamorized deadline with an objective of celebrating mediocrity, as opposed to setting a detrimental threshold for something to be accomplished. It's something that sounds mightily cold, especially from me, but countdowns can just be as perplexing as anything else.

Fortunately enough, we only mostly encounter countdowns commemorating happy occasions.

However, if we were all armed with the knowledge of the future, countdowns could be the most morbid things ever; imagine being able to know the precise moment someone dies, thus throwing a bash in their honour. Or how about preparing a double frosted marble cake to mark that specific moment where your marriage breaks down? You could sit back in your car in helplessness while you slowly bide your time, waiting for that final, final collision that you'll never be able to wriggle free from...how about a beer?

It's a good thing that we're not clairvoyant, then.

Even that bastard Nostradamus couldn't get everything right.

But if I were to be armed with the information of what would happen next, I don't really know if preventing it would be the right thing to do; an act of making things right might, in fact, draw you one step closer to the inevitable. Early Edition comparisons aside, and to paraphrase Tyler Durden once again, mayhaps it would be in our best interests to let the chips fall where they may.

Then again, when armed with the knowledge of the future, if we were to make a countdown out of celebrating a morbid moment of banal finality, it wouldn't be a celebration of mediocrity anymore; it'd be celebrating that one experience in your life that would change it. Permanently.

Here's to the future. And to tuna.

Labels: , ,