Luck and Slack

The town has finally dealt a truly devastating blow and I dodged another bullet. I feel the guilt of being passed-over whilst others get the axe, and wonder how I managed to fake it this long. The strange thing is that I am more optimistic now than during the most manic of lusty booze fueled rages, whence I bounded higher than Falkor with no regard for the ground below. The page I have turned is a blank one, and I still have not fully burned the previous chapters, but things are looking up. My routine is simple and needs to be tweaked a bit in order to account for creativity as well as self-improvement. I need to make these repairs before I can be of any use to others. Ah, first world problems, how you blind me to the suffering of anyone but myself. I will now be off to the thrift stores to find my slack. Maybe I will find the next love-of-my-life digging trough the dusty boxes of Xmas albums. I hope she doesn't smell like an ashtray.