Sad

I'm home now after 3,800 miles of driving around the pacific northwest over two weeks. At times it was a fantastic holiday and some great photos will likely appear when I can get them.

However something, as always. overshadows this. I can't talk about it explictly as it's not my choice to. Either way my life is continuing behind a facade that is slowly crumbling. I try, I really try to care about things but I can't anymore.

I just can't.

Life shouldn't be about fucking memories, it should be about hope, excitement, joy - anything other than blind obedience to the party line that we all 'had a good innings'. It shouldn't be about what we did, what we lived through, who we once saw, who we saw do what. It should be about who we are. What we're going to do. Where we're going to go.

It should be but it isn't.

I have to be strong. I have to avoid the reality of the situation and be strong. I'm a thousand tonnes of rock supported by the sheer willpower of a thousand matchsticks. I cannot break, or rather I cannot break externally. I cannot allow it.

I may never return here, for which I apologise. Know only that I would not do this lightly.

On the other hand, I might be back next week. Keep 'em guessing and all that.

Evening...

I'm currently in the states visiting Mrs RS, so I'll update as and when I can get near a computer (we're road tripping from California to Seattle).

I'll stop being cynical when the world stops being shit.

I have somewhat of a reputation at work for being cynical. So much in fact, that it was proposed that a 'Cynical Jar' was introduced so that anyone being cynical had to put a pound in it.

I just said that someone would probably just run off and steal the money before it could be used for anything useful, so what was the point?

The idea didn't get raised again. Which just goes to show that cynicism conquers all.

Or so I thought, because my place of work has managed to defeat by massive cynical streak by simply being worse than I could have possibly imagined.

How can you be cynical about something that couldn't actually be any worse? I find myself de-cynicalised, a feeling probably akin to waking up to find yourself strangely missing a hand.

And so, in a mild turn-up for the books, I've gone from acid-drippingly cutting for a couple of months to actually quite happy today. How can I not be happy? I was right. They really were doing that. They really are going to do that thing that even a lobotomised goat-fucker would think twice about. I have no power so I can't stop them doing these bollock-numbingly stupid things, so I may as well go with the flow and enjoy the ride.

If I was on the Titanic I'd be popping open the champagne right now. After all, when there's no tomorrow, who picks up the bill?