The ups and downs of life

I've been thinking lately. Well, not thinking thinking, if you get my drift. Not thinking thinking thinking. Just thinking. Skritcha skritcha-ing the surface stuff, nothing overly deep or philosophical. Just been thinking some stuff over.

You know, I've been working as a permanent audit staff for two almost three months now, and I get demotivated and depressed every now and then by just looking at the tons and tons of unfinished work I have on my hands. Really serious shit, I tell you. Really, really serious backlog shit shit.

Which got me thinking. In life we have our ups and downs, but how do we really handle the fucking downs in our lives? How do we motivate ourselves to get the fuck up in the mornings and just wade through all the shit that's piling up on us...just to maybe get through another day unscathed physically and, more importantly, mentally?

Believe me, one could go bonkers and shit-stone-cold-motherfuckin' crazy if one is not mentally and physically "tested" to go through what auditors go through.

Actually the word "auditor" is a complete fucking misnomer...I'm technically an "audit assistant" a.k.a junior a.k.a insignificant little speck of germ. But I'll get there soon, I'll climb up the ladder and when I turn 40 I'll perhaps be the partner of the firm.

If I don't quit after six months and open up a shit-shovelling company. After all, this job has taught me, more or less, how to shovel shitload after shitload of shit each and every day (well, almost).

But don't get me wrong. I respect the job. After all, if I don't shovel the shit, who will? Teamwork, man! One shovels the shit while the other, errr, passes it along.

How not to get demotivated is a somewhat less important question than how to get myself motivated? By waking up every morning and taking a cold shower, constantly reminding myself that today will be better than yesterday, and that I'll make things happen instead of waiting for things to happen or waiting for someone to make my things happen. By thinking of ways to work smart rather than work hard. By constantly reminding myself that I have a loonnnng way to go before I reach "successful careerist" title, when I'm 45 and retire early and do the things that I want to do.

That's how I motivate myself.

Then I take a look at the amount of work/shit I have outstanding and...

...I crumble. Well, almost. I just keep refreshing my mind and keep reminding myself that it's worth it all the fucking way. No regrets, just a lot of blood (well, figuratively at least), sweat and motherfucking tears (to borrow a phrase). That one day I'll reach the apex and the pinnacle of...

...Oh shit, I better stop before I sound like some corny, overused and oft-repeated cliche of the 80s. What the fuck.

The Revival of a Long Dead Blog

Shit. How many times have we done this, starting a blog and giving it up halfway, then resurrecting it again (is the grammar correct? "Resurrect" already has an element of "again" in it; so does the "resurrect...again" combination imply redundancy? I digress.) just to give up halfway and hide in a corner for two years before continuing the fucking (pardon moi unpolished French) blog again?!

It's a goddamned fucking vicious cycle, this blogging thing. It's like an addiction which feeds the individual, and when the poor sap finally divorces himself from the poison that is blogging, the villain gradually seduces the guy until finally...

...finally the guy restarts, resumes, resurrects...his blog.

Well, what the fuck, enjoy the ride while it's here, eh? So, what has been going on in this blogger's life since the last entry?

A lot, or a little, depending on your outlook of life. It swings both ways, very fucking subjective. Not my sexuality, you fucking twat! I meant the part about "a lot" or "a little" happened in my life since my last post.

I finally finished my tertiary education, earning a measly second class upper degree as opposed to first class honours ("honors" for all you Yanks). So I'm not too fucking depressed, I don't blame myself for the dismal educational performance. I just simply don't fucking care much anymore. As long as I get my fucking degree and get a job.

Well, I did complain a bit when the results came out, something to the extent of:

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? THE LECTURERS DUNNO HOW TO MARK AH? FUCKERS! MOTHERFUCKING LECTURERS READ SI PIN ONE AH? MY ANSWERS SO FUCKING TERRER OSO THEY GIVE MARKS LIKE ASSHOLE-SCRAPED SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK??????"

Ahhh, that was cathartic. In the metaphorical sense, of course. I didn't mean shitting or puking all over the place literally. What? You don't know what cathartic means? Dumbass.

And then I got myself a job. Damned stressful as hell, but if I start describing my work, they'll most probably fire me so I can't discuss my work in detail because I need the dough to survive and if they realise that I've been naughty by tell-y tell-y about my work (which is confidential, but then again, what line of work isn't?) in my blog-gy blog-gy, I'll get stomped-y stomped-y by their feet-y feet-y and I'll be out of a job-by job-by unless I can confuse them with long-y long-y sentences like this that make (mostly, anyway) no sense at all because then they'd get all confused and die like flies stuck to flypaper that attempt to free themselves from the sticky flypaper by heaving-ho, heaving-ho, their pathetic little legs until they either die of exhaustion of die because they've ripped their fucking legs apart and they're now bleeding to death, die, DIE, FUCKING GODDAMNED PISS OFF AND DROP FUCKING DEAD.

Cathartic. Like letting loose after months of constipation in an unending fountain of shit.