When I was younger I thought I was special. Destined to achieve something extraordinary. I was never really sure what that was, but I was convinced in an honest, deep in my heart kind of way that it would be so. I was always bright and people said I had a spark about me. Perhaps it was the idealism and promise of youth, the financially and emotionally comfortable nature of my upbringing, or perhaps deluded arrogance, or, dare I say it in this ever-lengthening sentence: naivety. I grew up, acquired a couple of university degrees, a deep-rooted cynicism beyond my twenty-five years and now realise the heartbreaking truth. I'm just another guy with another normal mediocre job, sitting at a desk counting down the hours, floating by on this planet of ours, on the long road to nowhere in particular. Maybe it's amazing that it took me so long to wake up to the fact, but it was nice feeling like the world was at my feet and I was something special. I guess most of us are simply normal. It just transpires that "normal" can be a rather uninspiring place to be.

"I thought I'd lost you," he whispered to his carton of milk that wouldn't expire for two more days.

Whenever I've been back visiting my family for the weekend I get homesick when I leave. I think about them all the time but rarely get homesick unless I've been back...what's that all about?

Toast Toast is like #life. Oft got without merit and lost without deserving.