Trouble
In the heat of a midnight debate, it's common for my censorship filter to be too relaxed. Needless to say it's very easy for a flow of dangerous thoughts to bypass screening and exit through my stupid mouth unchecked.
And guess what comes next?
Requiem
I’d just like to take some time out to acknowledge the passing of my Nissan NX Coupe. She was a reliable car, fun at most times and, like most second-hand cars, flawed with character. She served me for 50,000km's and I’d like to think that during our time together I had treated her well.
Ten days ago she was stolen from her usual spot on the street. Three days later she was found by police, abandoned in a suburban park. Despite being told otherwise, the car I saw at the holding yard was not the same one I knew and loved. After having to identify all the damage that had been done to her, I collected my remaining items and walked to the bus stop with a heavy heart, and a suspicion that it would be the last time that I would see her.
She will be missed greatly by family, friends, and, most of all, by me.
I’d just like to take some time out to acknowledge the passing of my Nissan NX Coupe. She was a reliable car, fun at most times and, like most second-hand cars, flawed with character. She served me for 50,000km's and I’d like to think that during our time together I had treated her well.
Ten days ago she was stolen from her usual spot on the street. Three days later she was found by police, abandoned in a suburban park. Despite being told otherwise, the car I saw at the holding yard was not the same one I knew and loved. After having to identify all the damage that had been done to her, I collected my remaining items and walked to the bus stop with a heavy heart, and a suspicion that it would be the last time that I would see her.
She will be missed greatly by family, friends, and, most of all, by me.
Pending
Deep in my wardrobe lies a shoebox that is filled with memories and promise. It sits there like a known treasure, waiting to be overturned and rediscovered. It rests in shadows, dormant and hibernating with creased scraps of written hopes. They long for a chance to once again see daylight and return to significance. The shoebox sits alongside outdated clothing – too small to wear, yet too important to discard – and kitschy trinkets carrying new dust and old marks. There is also an album nearby, housing photos of a colourful life. Cheap plastic and time have since robbed each photo, leaving little outside of fingerprint marks, faded backgrounds and lost faces.
A bittersweet mixture of optimism and anxiety runs through me every time I revisit any of these items. And it always ends with me shelving them back. It’s as if a never-ending argument was again unearthed, fiercely fought over in a quick battle, and just as quickly patched up. The band-aid solution - leaving the past behind and hoping that time will erase it from memory.
But there are so many things I cannot yet let go of, let alone forget.
Are they anchors preventing me to proceed? Or the wind necessary to turn flat sheets into full sails?
Maybe one day the twelve men in my head will reach a verdict.
Deep in my wardrobe lies a shoebox that is filled with memories and promise. It sits there like a known treasure, waiting to be overturned and rediscovered. It rests in shadows, dormant and hibernating with creased scraps of written hopes. They long for a chance to once again see daylight and return to significance. The shoebox sits alongside outdated clothing – too small to wear, yet too important to discard – and kitschy trinkets carrying new dust and old marks. There is also an album nearby, housing photos of a colourful life. Cheap plastic and time have since robbed each photo, leaving little outside of fingerprint marks, faded backgrounds and lost faces.
A bittersweet mixture of optimism and anxiety runs through me every time I revisit any of these items. And it always ends with me shelving them back. It’s as if a never-ending argument was again unearthed, fiercely fought over in a quick battle, and just as quickly patched up. The band-aid solution - leaving the past behind and hoping that time will erase it from memory.
But there are so many things I cannot yet let go of, let alone forget.
Are they anchors preventing me to proceed? Or the wind necessary to turn flat sheets into full sails?
Maybe one day the twelve men in my head will reach a verdict.
Hunting
Open - Cover Letter.doc
Open - CV.doc
Cut. Paste. Edit. Attach. Send.
With every application mailed off, a piece of my pride is also attached. It's not that I'm too proud to work for anybody else, but there is just something degrading about being judged on pieces of paper and people you know.
It almost feels as if the cover letter - the highlights, the best of, the top ten - is the pimp that attracts with promises of satisfaction and value. And the resume is the whore that bares everything that could be possibly consumed by an employer.
Job hunting is probably the most demeaning and repetitive task one could perform.
Except for market research and data entry - oh those years of miserable employment I won't soon forget.
Cut. Paste. Edit. Attach. Send.
(Repeat til fade)
Open - Cover Letter.doc
Open - CV.doc
Cut. Paste. Edit. Attach. Send.
With every application mailed off, a piece of my pride is also attached. It's not that I'm too proud to work for anybody else, but there is just something degrading about being judged on pieces of paper and people you know.
It almost feels as if the cover letter - the highlights, the best of, the top ten - is the pimp that attracts with promises of satisfaction and value. And the resume is the whore that bares everything that could be possibly consumed by an employer.
Job hunting is probably the most demeaning and repetitive task one could perform.
Except for market research and data entry - oh those years of miserable employment I won't soon forget.
Cut. Paste. Edit. Attach. Send.
(Repeat til fade)
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