Whenever I'm not precisely swimming, that is to say; sinking, with my limbs flaying about me wildly like an epileptic puppet, my head sliding, slipping silently beneath the sub-zero surface of the flooded quarry of despair, whenever that isn't happening: I do have to, I must admit: life can be pretty goddamn fucking sweet sometimes.

Sometimes, on occasion, sometimes, at least periodically, I just goddamn fucking rule, you know? Sometimes my steelcaps manage, by pure happenstance, to connect with the right pair of teeth. Sometimes, shit works out.

Despite how I might sometimes feel, as melancholic, as lonely as empty crib, the tumbling dice of fortune, somehow, still seem loaded, fixed heavy with the weight of fate direct and rolling, bouncing, straightforward against the will of God and steadily in my favour. The weird stuff I get away with. Those strange, unsigned boxes, filled with gold, delivered, without postmarks, that come my way on a regular basis.

I am extremely lucky. Are there any limits to my limits? Possibly not, if I am willing to push them far enough. I have always set my compass to the horizon, and then drifted, felt helplessly inadequate when I failed to reach it. On the other hand, maybe, maybe I've already floated further from shore than most.

Maybe I've already got a lot to feel proud of.

theblackoven has some TOTALLY METAL!!! \m/ BAKING.