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And Now Its Time

I dunno if I was just waiting for the right ‘click’ that’ll get the bolts in my head grinding to actually write something that will make me feel irreversibly bad for all the times I thought I will be able to ‘right’ anything during the month-long break when I honestly thought I will have the inspiration and the time to write. Now, as I feel the need to heed to nature’s call, I dare not rise and brave the 20 or so steps that separate me from the haven of excretory functions, for fear that I might lose the force that is driving me to type these words. Anticlimactically so, I begin to realise that I was simply too excited to tell my chivalrous tales of taking photographs and getting high that I wasn’t really able to do anything about it, other than to be mighty excited at the prospect. Now that I’m back at work, where I do most of my ‘writing’ (which majorly hinders my professional output), I am simply presented with the perfect opportunity to type away whatever the fuck my brain can think of.

As I cry in utmost derision of the things and notions that be, and the sorry fact that I’m back in this place, I realised one odd fact, which is that I am crying not because I miss my family or because I wont be too busy slacking anymore, but because I feel like a fucking grown up when all I wanna be is to completely be just a kid.

And like a befallen angel of luck has touched me in my naughty parts, I so don’t have any work right now. So yeah, I’m basically just slacking, very much like what I was doing the past month, but with a boss who’s watching me with a look of utter hatred coz he doesn’t have anything to slave drive me with. Ah, bliss.

And now its time.

To tell my stories.

And those of others, who are alive, and those of the ones who are breathing only in my imagination.

Let it begin.

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