August

It's August 2010. Lily Allen's Who'd Have Known is playing. It's quite fitting of the situation, simply because all those months ago when I stepped off that plane I certainly didn't expect that in a year or so life was going to make a huge three-sixty sporting a big up yours. Sure, you could argue it wasn't all bad. There were the supercars I never dreamt I would drive (this soon anyways) and go sideways in. Then I went and did that whole relationship thing (which, mind you was so immensely overrated and tiring). And then that freelance thing. It's pretty much downhill from there. I'm not out of control. I'm just letting it slip. It's one thing to go into self destruction, and much a different story to do it willingly. In a roller coaster of sorts, you know you need the sudden realization to wake up. But get this, what if I'm not asleep? And I wake up from nothing? And all this is really what I've gotten myself into? Picking up the pieces have never been my forte, nor am I a stranger to it. It's just like John McClane, how many times can the same shit happen to the same person again, and again? It sometimes feels like life is a damn sequel with all the familiar plot twists. Some days, I just dont give a fuck anymore. What's the big plan anyway? There is a voice to reason, and it sounds like a bitch.

I remembered a time in the past when it was all apart, but yet it was all perfect. If I ever get that opportune moment again, please make sure I don't let it all go all over again.