Whisper tales of gore

I like to think I’ve got it all figured out, but in actuality, I literally have no fucking clue what the world is trying to tell me right now. Should I pack it all in and start over? Should I continue on the road I’m currently on and just bulldoze my way through everyone in my way, not giving a shit who I trample or sit on? Should I buy a bouncy castle, put it in my backyard and eat squishy giant marshmallows whilst hopping from one castle corner to the other? Should I do what comes naturally and proceed to buy copious amounts of fantasy novels I won’t actually get to reading until five years from now?

Yes, I’ll do that. The bouncy castle was way too expensive anyhow, I could have bought a small farm for that price.

See, this is what I do when I’m feeling inadequate/disappointed/irate/annoyed; I say – or, in this case, I write – silly, nonsensical things that make absolutely no fucking sense. Ultimately, this makes me smile and isn’t that the point? Isn’t that the best way to get yourself out of a funk? Well, aside from smelling 100-year-old library books? Smiling kills shitty moods and it kills enemies. Smiling (and giving the middle finger) is my subtle way of saying “Fuck You” to everyone who’s upset me or disappointed me in the last two week period.

You know what else makes me feel better? A long-haired, shirtless horse trainer called Tristan Ludlow. Be right back — gonna go watch Legends of the Fall now and pretend I’m Tristan’s plaything. What a joyful scenario that would be *le sigh*