It's a minute to 4am as I'm typing this on my excellently new, nice, but slightly less well equipped keyboard (my Australian one called it quits; what's new?) and I'm completely knackered. I've spent most of my Friday night completing my rendition of a Veyron-Ark painting for my portfolio (whilst completing a half-bottle of Chivas Regal at the same time) listening to MSTRKRFT's Fist of God album (which is brilliant, I must say). Why am I sat doing work on a Friday night when I should be out lingering with pretty girls at the clubs or scouring the streets for lovely supper? The answer is hardly surprising: It's almost been two months (or has it?) since I've gotten back home, and I'm supposed to get a job. My portfolio has been on hold for a decade or so simply because I have had better things to do. And I do have better things to do. Tons of games need to be finished, weight needs to be lost, and my car needs some customising. That's not even inclusive of the claiming of my superannuation from my previous job back in Melbourne. It's hard to believe that I was there for a few years. It all seems all too distant, and my reality has again shifted considerably. Nothing has really gone to plan, and I'm a bit sceptical that anything will. You see, when a sports-coupe becomes a sedan, and weight-loss becomes weight-gain, the weather isn't exactly enjoyable, and all the girls you see cannot compare (per sq.ft.), it becomes real pointless to find a job. Except for the money thing, obviously.
Which is annoying, because there was supposed to be a 350z in the garage, a lot of (alcoholic) tropical drinks with little paper umbrellas, and sexy girls to do (instead of portfolios) on Friday nights.
No comments:
Post a Comment