Big bread theory

PROLOGUE

Around few days ago I was getting wild with my ass-kicking girl gang somewhere in the middle of nowhere (village of Lithuania) and one of them managed to materialize a drunken sentence:

-Hey, ya know, it’s your birthday day after tomorrow?

I was flabbergasted by the statement starting from the toes of my feet to the cable-like bundle of axons:

-What the hell? – I shockingly answered, while experiencing the bodily phenomenon, I mentioned above.

Yes, my birthday was forgotten. I never imagined that this film-like scenario would take part in my humdrum routine. Of course, no climax, no drama, not even Leonardo DiCaprio asking me to paint him like one of those French dudes, I mean… Well, that this is just the entrance of the real waffling that is about to begin.

THE BREAD UNCHAINED

Another year yet gave in to the merciless time sucking machine titled as life. I think I feel old… Are 20s actually the crust of the bread, whereas the soft, sweet middle part is postponed for the later? But, goddammit, I want to eat my bread (metaphorical one) however I want to.

Or, perhaps, the whole kit and caboodle mechanism works vice-versa: you get the middle first and the rest are leftovers? I have a decent illustration for this theory, it is like that 8 something-years old cactus in the corner of my TV shelve ‘sitting’ there doing nothing, getting abandoned more and more with the years. (Everyone has a different comprehension of decent examples, no judging)

‘It’s my party and I cry if I want to’ rules are, in fact, not applicable in real 3D circumstances. Even if it is not a satisfactory at the end you will still have to consume the whole bread, so the starting side doesn’t really matter.  Where I come from (west coast represents) we call it ‘zapadlo desnis’ which means getting sabotaged by life.

You gotta do what you gotta do, but it’s not what you do but how you do.

And I have to unchain the bread and keep on living. Preferably with Leo… And cactus is still there, so it can be that bad, I guess.

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