Bare-Knuckled on Boxing Day.

Shit went bad - he's on the roof again.

I have been massively fatigued today. No energy, no pluck, no get-up-and-go. Lethargy is often a side-effect of this sickness anyway, but this has been a bit over the top if you ask me. It is not the shizz-nik, in my opinion. Not at all.

So what to discuss with you all at a time like this? Dreams? Sleep? Your habitual checking of my site to see when I've updated? My habitual ridiculousness in every aspect of life? Our habitual tendency to get our timing completely wrong? Well, that's actually a fault of mine, probably less so for all you angels. Except maybe Freckle. Perhaps her timing is as bad as mine, and that's why all this is so damn sweet, but so damn bitter at the same time. So, with all this in mind, I feel like writing a little about luck.

Are you one of the chosen few who seem to get all the lucky breaks? Don't give me any of the time-honoured teenage shtick about, "oh, nothing ever goes right for me." Most of the people who spout this crap have the best luck of anyone, they're just so used to their good fortune that they take it for granted and begin to confuse gold with horse-shit. If you are one of the lucky ones, then congratulations to you. You are more blessed than me. Not that my luck is the worst in the world. It most assuredly is not, but it could be infinitely better.

Some say luck doesn't exist, that Karma is the true leveller; the tab-keeper, or the bookie keeping notes on our actions and calling in our debts eventually. I believe a little in both. I think they are inextricably linked. I believe you can't have one without the other. I think a stroke of good luck leads to a bad dose of Karma sometime down the line, and a barrage of the bad stuff equals Karma patting you on the back lovingly at some arbitrary point later in life. For that is the biggest problem with Karma: its diamonds and its rocks - whilst always warranted, for Karma is the notion of "what goes around, comes around" - are dished out arbitrarily. There is no way to plan for either a dose of good Karma or a dose of bad. And luck is the same. They are a person's best friend and worst enemy simultaneously, but without the comfort of knowing when your good mate is coming over for a few beers, or when your arch-nemesis is going to show up on the front porch with a sick sneer and a tire-iron in hand.

If all this postulating on such a seemingly trivial matter is a little hard to understand, I want to explain why I am mentioning it now. The reason is that I want to know where timing comes into all of this. Is bad timing in life down to luck or down to Karma? Is it a little of both? Or is it neither of the two? Maybe bad timing is just something you're born with; some kind of inherent dent in your armoury, that no amount of hammering and panel-beating is going to iron out. By "bad timing", I mean, for example, being the kind of person who finally saves enough money to buy a house right when house prices spike. Or who decides to sell-up and move on right when there is a slump in the market. Or, hypothetically, a guy who finds he has a deep connection with a beautiful girl who has recently moved to the other side of the world.

My timing is notoriously bad. I time important, often life-altering, things wrong at least a few times every year. It is a heavy cross to bear, for more than anything it is a recipe for frustration. Life gets very odious very quickly when your timing is a write-off. And I would be grateful to know how bad timing comes about. Knowing my timing, some decorated scholar who has a Doctorate on exactly this probably visited this page ten minutes ago, read a couple of posts, and left never to return again. Ho ho ho, why is that not so far-fetched? But anyway, if you have an answer, or a suggestion, or even an insult for me on this please don't hesitate to comment. I will be very appreciative.

I feel like writing for a long time tonight, despite the fatigue. I have such clever things to say. I'm full to the brim with satisfyingly cool, frothy, pithy things to say. I'm like a good beer. And I know you all want a sip. Don't even try to deny it, there's no point. No one will believe you. It is common knowledge that once you set eyes on the words that I write, you'll be sucked in the vortex of awesome that they create. I'm like the blob, except not hideously disgusting or a killer. Actually, why the hell would I even want to compare myself to the blob? What a douche.

So in conclusion, I am a blob-like creature who somehow resembles a beer and has bad timing. Who wants to propose to me first?

If you were guaranteed happiness in exchange for killing someone close to you, would you do the deed?