Keeping up with the one post a year tradition, I would like to reassure my faithful readers, all four of you, that life hasn't changed. General boredom and occasional drunkenness, interrupted by brief moments of unspeakable horror. It is at this stage of life that the parents and loved ones give you the grim euphemistic reminders we all hear - the difficulty of finding a good liver or lung for transplant, the cost of a paternity case, the importance of Karma, chameleons, the munni-sheila debate, and so on and so forth.
People enquire about the deeper purpose of your life. Why this road, the enquirer asks. Your eyes shift and you search for a new course of conversation, but to no avail. For the enquirer does not give in. He looks at you, his eyes to yours. His fingers probe deeper into your behind, searching for reason good enough to mock you, testing your forbearance, Before you know it, 4 years have passed, but the enquirer's fingers are still up your ass. You're clueless as fuck, you don't know how to make them go away. You learn how to live with it, but its not the same anymore. You now have a tramp stamp, and you have to live with it. Society can't be blamed for everything, but did you have a choice?
And then the end of the era beckons, and so do the endlessly long corridors walks, pretence of not hating cigarette smoke being blown into your face, photos of the backs of grown ass men peeing, really bad jokes, singling out and dissing a different person everyday, you get the gist. You get yourself together at the end, wondering if you're gonna miss the circus you used to live in. Maybe a little?
You're not sure anymore. But it helps when you have something to look forward to.