Introducing Average Ox

It's Wednesday morning, I'm wide awake in front of the phospor well with light falling on a Paul Coelho novel. The night's eerily calm, something I wish was reflected in myself right now.

It's a month plus into the new year and I've just realised I'm starting to leave the mid-20s bracket I've so comfortably put myself in. Brrrr. May this year will see me turning 20 bloody six, and frankly I'm not sure if I'm at all ready. I once imagined that by the age of 24, I'd have at least some semblance of how I want my life to be. Man, was I wrong. It gets to you sometimes, reading all these mags with these stunning "eligible bachelors" in them not only looking (damn) good, but also with awesome careers to boot. Toss in the fact that they seem to be enjoying life to the fullest (not to mention attached or dating, regardless of orientation) and you've got a seriously worried Average Ox on your hands.

So yeah. You start the whole "New You" campaign. You (try to) lose some weight, expand your wardrobe, even learn previously impossible skills (like flirting, for instance) in order to improve your social life. In short, you develop a new persona. I knew it would involve a LOT of work, but boy was I unprepared. And usually in those mags they tend to leave out the problems: personal crises, family/monetary woes, getting your heart broken. Everything seems all hunky-dory fit-piece A into slot B kind of thing, much like an IKEA Billy rack. There's always another side to the coin, and it seems like most of us are living it.

It's a seriously buggered world we live in where quality entertainment is defined by how much we can demean each other, married men flirt consciously (although UN-consciencely) with other women, people lament how difficult it is to find the good men at the same time killing the same off, falling out of love is as easy as slipping off a sock (while getting someone to fall IN love with you is only a little easier than, well, digging the Suez Canal with a teaspoon) and other such phenomena.

Ugh. If I was a woman, I'd probably be pleading PMS. Unfortunately, I'm not, I'm just grumpy. And most of all, scared. There's a little discomfort down south that's worrying me, and I suppose if it persists, I'll have to make that doctor's appointment after all. Then there's all the other things that always try and make me worry about them but tonight I just don't have the bleedin time.

I wish (and there will be some besides God who can fill in the blanks here).
Goodnight, people.