There are two kinds of fatigue. The first one, the one that you feel in your muscle, is fairly simple and has an almost fool-proof remedy – you sleep it off. But the second kind, the one that invades your consciousness, drills into your mind and scampers around inflicting tears and dodging fixes… this kind, I’m utterly helpless against. Someone once told me that the only reason I never get an answer that satisfies me is because I ask the wrong questions. I think I am just at this point in life where I am done settling. Strip away all the bootcamp-y talks and slogans, I just can’t be arsed anymore to fake it. If I juggle well enough, someday I will be a clown. And even if not, those colourful balls are still pretty damn pretty. However coincidental they might have started out to be. Happiness by happenstance, what could be better?
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