A fine example of the aforementioned can be seen amid the pointlessly garrulous and decidedly obfuscate content of last week’s post.
Diploma in proofreading and editing notwithstanding, this is what happens when an uncharacteristically insipid brain drawing little inspiration from much of anything couples with murderous time constraints, then from somewhere within that painfully indolent mindset comes the reminder, thus the desire, the unrelenting compulsion, to maintain weekly updates of this…
Loosely translated, I allowed myself a generous half hour to ponder, mentally assemble then physically denote the very first topic that flashed across my internal vision with all the alacrity of a drunken tortoise.
Gosh, what fun we all had.
So you see, as the reader attempting to arrange last week’s calamitous transcription into some kind of fluid literal construction, the problem becomes one of congruity; making sense of the nonsensical.
In fact now I consider it – and I’m sure by now any lonely souls reading this will have flicked back to quickly scan over last week’s page of Uncertainty – I believe the point it was making, or at least hoping to make, related to the mythology of luck. That’s right, I said it. The Mythology of Luck. Damn right. I said it and by implication, you heard it.
For you see, luck is not tangible; we cannot touch or hold it and realistically, the only time we supposedly see it or benefit from its virtues, is when we have carefully put in place all the factors to ensure complete control of a situation, thereby ensuring the reaping of said benefit.
Hold up. That sounds less like luck and more like precision.
Yes. In short, your so called ‘luck’ is largely a sham. Whether you are one of these people who seem to go through life experiencing beyond their fair share of good luck, or perhaps in the eyes of others you are the most hapless soul around with seemingly constant bad luck, generally, it’s because either you applied yourself to life’s gamut of injustice or simply, you couldn’t be arsed.
Wasn’t long ago that I just could not seem to get a break. My life was embraced by The 50/50/90 rule – given a situation presenting a 50 percent chance of success, realistically, there was always a 90 percent chance of failure. Murphy watched over me like a Goddamn hawk. I was constantly stumbling over hurdles then getting up only to clamber over obstacles. Nothing was ever easy. Hardship, bad luck and failure seemed a way of life for me because honestly, I didn’t have the energy to put in that extra bit of effort that would have ensured my regular success.
Ha. If this were a rom-com or similarly lame family movie I would now regale you with a feel-good story, or somehow depict a cute montage of the path to my miraculous redemption; about how I started exerting on life that extra little something and in the scintillation of a Dreamland fairy tale everything was suddenly illuminated by a flash of magic sparkles giving life a glorious makeover and making this existence ever so wonderful…
Don’t be daft. On account of my inherent slackness I still endure the same frequency of tribulations that I always have, the difference is that now I don’t chalk up life’s apparent shortcomings to bad luck – now I know there’s a logical reason.
Huh. That made a lot more sense than I expected. Should probably think about changing that heading then…
Article by Tim Walker
Edited by X Trou
Photography by F Fawt