Life is like a granola bar.
So, basically – crap.
Of course, not to diss granola bars. They have a few sweet bits here and there but the overall after taste makes you feel like you’re chewing dung.
We might be going in a circle here.
The question is not how life ended up in this dung-chewing phase but how I let it go there? Letting important issues rest on the back burner, much like this blog (look, subtle acknowledgement of my late return to blogging!) or wasting my time on trivialities (hahahahaDIE GREEN PIGS DIEhahahahahaWHAT DO YOU MEAN I’M OUT OF ANGRY BIRDS?), I’d bet.
Life wasn’t supposed to be like this while growing up, was it? It seemed so simple on paper, you know. The friends we had back then, the friends we would make in the future, they were all for life. Because, you know, that’s just how it was. Nobody made friends with you just to use you or to bitch about you to your other ‘friend’, right? RIGHT? Blech.
Of course, we were all destined for great success. Failure? Pfftt. That couldn’t touch us. Yeah, well, that needs no further explanation other than – bullshit.
Basically, I could go on and on but the main point I’m trying to make here is that maturity sucks.
And angry birds are amazeballs.
Appending -balls is the new way to make things sound cool.
But I digress.
What sucks even more about maturity is maybe the fact that while I was sitting here, whining my ass off about maturity (ass-donkeyballs. See what I’m doing here?), the swine that I have for friends went right ahead and grew the fuck up.
When the hell did Harry, that asshole who cried when his mother didn’t buy him popcorn, start talking to me about fund investments? When the hell did Ali, that nitwit who couldn’t tie her shoelaces get married? Why is the earth still rotating?
A million such profound questions later, I realised that like it or not, life was dragging me kicking and screaming into this maturity world. But I’ll be damned if I let it get to me. I’ll be damned if I don’t laugh like I didn’t give a care and I’ll be damned if I don’t behave like a mischievious brat every single chance I got. Soon, expect me to run around the house screaming in my underwear. A little after that, expect me getting thrown out of the house.
Now. Enough said and I’m hungry.
If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to finish that granola bar.