Can you believe this summer will mark the passing of four years since (my) graduating high school?

The troubling thing is I can’t decide whether things have really improved since then. Has life moved quickly or slowly since that fateful year in 2004? Have I grown up or am I still the same? Is the future brighter or is everything still a mystery?

I can’t decide. Certainly, four years is a milestone. At least, it feels like it should be.

The story you’ve all been waiting for will arrive tomorrow.

It will be glorious.

You know, it’s been a good long while since I’ve written anything of substance.

If you know me, you’ll know that any substantial writing I do tends to fall into two categories: (1) Baring my soul to the World (e.g. “My life is sooooo shite — sob, sob, blubber, blubber”), and (2) Math.

Now in regards to the former, I’ve noticed that over time, my heart has seized up into a cold, impenetrable rock of melancholy, and I’ve learned to deal with whatever emotional crisis I may be going through at the time (Translation: I’m so emo, I can’t even talk about my emo-ness — which, uh…would make me like, super-emo).

In regards to the latter, I’m working on something big.

Okay, wait. I know better than anybody how many times I’ve promised big things, but haven’t delivered. My archives are littered — just fuckin’ littered — with incomplete projects, from my Mathematics of Attraction series, to my Mathematics of Fluids series.

I’m fucking horrible. I know.

But this time, it’s going to be different. I know you’ve heard it all, before. But I swear, this big thing — whatever it is — is going to make an appearance sometime before the end of March. Maybe it’ll be next week. Maybe not. But it will see the light of day.

Uh…unless, you know, I get into a horrible lawnmower accident and have both of my arms chopped off and reduced to stumps.

Then I make no guarantees.

You know, I was entirely convinced that the whole emo-teen-angst-angry-at-the-world phase was a thing of the past.

Like raging, unpredictable hormones.

And giggling. (Men, by the way, don’t giggle.)

But I woke up this morning cold, naked, and sleep-deprived, thinking, “Chhriiiisssst. Why is Life so fucking bullshit?”

I then pulled my big green duvet up and over my head for a whole 15 minutes, only to crawl out afterwards, and trudge to work.

Fuck.

It’s not over yet.

Three minutes ago, I just managed to — from some freak accident — delete a piece of fiction I’ve been working on for months. For months, I’ve tweaked it. Literally, sentence by sentence, word by word, and comma by comma. Some days, I’d spend a good hour just staring at a single phrase, making it perfect.

And now it’s all gone.

I’m heartbroken. Seriously.

I have to start over, I know. But how, I have no idea.