There are many types of tanking, of course I'm talking to anyone familiar with RPG's, those walls of HP providing a shield against damage. You may be familiar with armour, shield and speed tankers, but these are nothing compared to the role I find myself playing, one of the emotional tank!
Emotional omni-tanking is much like any other type of defensive role, with one exception: in place of melee attacks and laser fire you have to absorb frustration, anger, jealously and rage without letting too much damage slip through into your valuable hull for fear of going down with your ship.
I will eat your flesh and cry out your freshly cleansed soul!!!
Fired towards me like spittle from an obnoxious dinner guest these moronic blathering's give me cause to step outside of myself. As I stand there in blissful silence staring at my corpulent frame, which itself stares blankly at whatever motor-mouthed cretin stands in my way, I must decide if it's really the place for me to spend the rest of my days or whether I'm happy to abandon it as a decoy and head forth in search of better accommodation...
...Of course I reclaim my familiar dwelling - it's custom built and like a warm blanket comforts me. But every now and then taking a step back can be invigorating; doing so can mean having to relearn how everything works: my eyes have blurred, my hearing is muffled and my heart beats an unfamiliar rhythm. I am the undead, reborn with a chance to absorb a little more understanding of the world.
I often think I was born too late, or too early, that if only I could have found the things I love sooner I'd of had more time to love them longer. Maybe it's my age as I fast approach thirty five (like calling 'Candyman' in the mirror I choose to write the words and not utter the number for fear of giving it form). Maybe I have once again become stagnant, my dreams like a distant mirage...
So what's a man to do?
Well, having two weeks away from work has allowed me to reflect, to put a few things into perspective, at least until reality comes along to shatter any illusion of change.
I have finally completed my curriculum vitae in a vague attempt to at look like I'm putting in some effort, that somehow by showing willing a vast opportunity might just fall into my lap. I have purchased myself a bass guitar in the hope it may help me tap into some latent musical talent and allow some creative freedom I feel is lacking. I WILL be booking a driving lesson, even it's just with my mother - I swear the woman has the patience of a saint. And I plan on getting just a tiny bit fitter before July 22nd.
But as my two week vacation fast comes to an end I get those all too familiar feelings of nervous excitement: knowing that good friends await my return and having the certainty of two weeks work to catch up on. The chains of routine will once again clamp around my ankles and shackle me to past habbit... My freedom is over, I can no longer soar in the open skies and navigate unhindered.
I must return to my prison, a hawk caged up with songbirds.
Until next time...
