Ah, awards, choke, cough, grumble, grumbe-spit. I can’t seem to understand how the opinions of other people, like judges get me down. Everything has a flavour of the month and if what you do is good enough for someone to pick up on and it relates to them, not that it would be any good, then it wins. All about timing. All about luck-less skill than skill requires. A sort of top of the pops success, does it mean the persons responsible are good, or are they just holding on to a winning lottery ticket. There are always winners, and then there are always people like me who look for consolation in the form of telling ourselves that we aren’t concerned with awards. When in actual fact I feel almost dismembered and completely incapable. I am supposed to be a writer, a thinker and I can’t seem to get passed my own failures. The Goodfellas paradigm (eventually even Martin Scorsese's genius is recognised-SEE TIMING). Do I really care, well would you? How hard is it to remain optimistic and motivated when one of the apparent key motivators is entering a competition, right? However all that it does is create undue stress and anxiety, a build up to an anti-climax. How is any of that healthy? So I diddle about in feigned contentment, playing idly with my dead cat. My sweet little daydream. Now that I have no more justification for the ramblings of the broken hearted I will attempt being more frivolous and spirited, all hopefully for this glossy little future I am ascending into. I will start signing off with an “On the Plus Side”. Verification if you will that I am trying to always look on the bright side of life. Okay here it goes:
On The Plus Side- I have my health and I am not without any limbs. Thank you Jesus…
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