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HAPPY THINGS ARISING LIKE ATLANTIS

20 April 2005

For your sake and mine, I sincerely hope this is one of the last of those 'depressed' kind of rants of late. I can imagine the tedium. It won't take long before everyone starts thinking all I can do is whine, like I'm some sort of Luke Skywalker incognito. But yet again I have a sad tale to weave.

You know that delicious Secret Project I've been babbling about for months (heck, even the whole time since we started)? Well, yesterday night I learned that it FAILED. It was a comic I had put my heart and soul in, pouring every bit of knowledge I had about making strips in it and nurturing it until it was a healthy young boy, full of life and zest. Then it set its first step into the world, and it was crushed underneath the merciless foot of brutal competition. The comic was meant for a contest and the actual prize was publication (there were also some monetary prizes which were -save for the top tier-, frankly, insulting when held against the amount of work you had to put in). I was so sure that I'd be among the fourteen that would get published. Out of only 60 contestants, this was no bold claim. But it seems my assurance was to be my downfall, as the news came as a sledgehammer on explosion, drilling into my skull with all its vibrating capacity. Fourteen of the sixty were better than me, according to the jury. I'm still recovering from the blow, but the upside is that my feet are back on the ground now and that my ego has been deflated to nihilistic proportions again. An excellent premise for any existence in my opinion.

Of course I have aces up my sleeve. Dice to cast. My trumpcard may be annulled (originality a faint afterglow in the grandness of things, or so it seems, I'm saddened to say) but I've yet to fold my hand. Don't you just love these allegories? I do, that's why I use them. I'm not going to spoil my Plan B's yet or you may be barricading your rooftop windows in advance.

After sobbing out my rotten feeling at buddy Jasper's room (while buddy Jasper was sleeping off his incredible hangover from the party last night -really, the man gives a new meaning to alcoholic abuse-) I rose to decide that I'd think about quitting my job. If you've been paying any attention, you'd know that it is one of the prime things causing all the ruckus and stress in my life this last half year. Time to deal with this beast once and for all. I can't bear to suffer this torment another month -it must end now. No matter how much I really like my colleagues and how much I really like the work itself (and I really do: it may not always be fun but it's really not a bad job, it has lots of good moments and a few excellent perks -and perks are good), I just can't handle it anymore. Should I call to tell them that I won't be coming anymore, I know they'll think bad of me and won't like me anymore. And it really tears me apart.

But it must be done, he said with his head faced down.

Roderick.