escaping on the run

Oh life has its milestones does it? Well hello there, I'm making my holy communion where are my moniesz, look at me I'm eighteen and legal buy me a drink woooo yes it's my twenty first birthday party wow my wedding day I'm so happy take out the Kleenex. Big fucking deal. Going through the same old rituals as every. body. else. Graduating from a liberal arts degree and experiencing the ensuing existential crisis... you think you're so special do you? Well what if you're sitting there on your unemployed but possibly overly educated ass and questioning yourself because you've stooped to the lowly standards you never thought you'd possibly let yourself reach. Applying for social welfare? Nothing but another stepping stone in life for your average Joe hurrah lets pop some well deserved and paid for by my sweat, blood and prsi, party streamers. It's my time to reap the benefits of all those weekends spent working in Mocha Beans throughout college and get me my dole. I thought I'd never see the day. And yet I might not; just let them analyse my case for another six to eight weeks and then, maybe then, I might possibly get tuppence or two. But with the odds against me I'm not holding my breath for fear I'd hold it til I was blue in the face then explode into a veritable Veruca Salt. * shudder

Dum da dum the amount of times I've heard Galway be called the Graveyard of Ambition. And scorned it so. How naive it seems I have been, with good people falling to the left and the right of me faster than the leaves from the trees we'll all be dead and buried before we know what's hit us. Returning in May I thought I'd be on the first ticket out of here come September, but the procrastination pandemic is more contagious than I was prepared for and it seems I've gone and caught myself an infection. The contented 'I'll push the panic to the side for now and spend just one more night, I swear it'll be the last, night in the Roisin' feeling, that, as terrible as it might objectively be, is somewhat reassuring nonetheless. You can fool yourself into thinking everyone is in the same boat, but what if your sails aren't up? They're rendering you utterly hopeless and drifting aimlessly, or, as Jape might once have said flo-o-o-o-o-oating

Anyway, if I'm going to be dead and buried in this here land of lost souls then I rather think I'd prefer a tomb to a mere tombstone. Ah shure go on, "because you're worth it" and all that marketing wank. What's befallen me? Where's the fear? My relentless determination not to become one of the multitude? Am I wasting away before my very own eyes? Perhaps this indeed is my cry for help - if you're a kindred spirit out there and hear me calling please won't you answer me? Let us re-inspire and re-invigorate each other the hell out of here cos although this empty street's too dead for dreaming, I know that in the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you