mish-mash

I went walking in our salubrious neighbourhood, by myself after dinner on a Saturday night. The moon was a mass of yellow strolling through clouds and trees. Out of the giant windows of the river-front mansions couples families parties lit up the street. Everything looked and smelled and sounded nice. And for the first time in a very long time, I didn't wish that something would happen, or that someone would do something, or that I could.

Something... big, I guess, happened yesterday. Maybe that contributed. No, of course it did. But I like to think that I've also been making my own way out of the Dumpster. Slowly. Lucky for all, I am not prone to introspection in writing. Save to say that, how humbling, being believed in.

If greatness comes hand-in-hand with a robust sense of self-worth, I'm not sure how far I'll get in life. One cannot be self-aware and not filled with self-doubt, the same way that one cannot be worldly and not a bit dysthymic. Somewhere along the way, early on, I forgot how determinative Determination is and how pointless it is to do anything half-arsed.

Most of my acquaintances, blood relations included, do not doubt my ability to do anything, for I give them no reason to. But if I sometimes do twice as well as everyone else, it's only because I always try four times as hard.

Then there are the select few who, knowing the frequency with which I fuck up and the ease with which I am given to feeling defeated, wait patiently yet confidently at the end of each tunnel with candy & blue wine, happy-hour cocktails, offers of fashion advice, and more. Thankyou: you know who you are.

Cheers too, to my meditating philosophising boss-to-be, a stranger who's taking an astounding chance on me. He looked past my mediocre grades and into my profoundly cynical hence well-equipped-for-the-job, soul.