I missed my journal's birthday again. If i were a more dramatic sort of prick, i would consider that indicative of the sort of asshole i'm turning into, but let's be honest with each other: who the fuck am i? I will admit that i love adding a certain theatricality to my posts. Shit! Otherwise, i seem as banal and bland as every other cocksucking twenty-something in this beautiful blog-world of ours. Let me pretend my life is important! Also, i can't recall if i've ever remembered my journal's birthday on time. Who gives a fuck?

I don't know where to begin or what to talk about. I started a journal in 2001, and to be frank i don't think it's really come very far. I haven't really come very far as a person, probably. Or have i? I've certainly gotten prettier, at least. No word of lie: if that's the extent of my personal growth, that's perfectly acceptable to me. I'm a simple man.

I've been playing Tales of Vesperia, which is pretty slick. What else? Work is hectic, sort of. All sorts of paperwork. Fiscal 08! Property and department composites! Percentages and leadership development! When i look in the mirror, i see a boy who wants to pretend he's a knight clawing at the back of my eyes.

All i do is complain anymore! Which bothers me because, seriously: what do i have to complain about? I must be the fucking poster boy for what is surely one of the more spoiled generations of this century. I'm a glutton who hates the fact he's consistently served the choicest cuts.