I’m on the train… and I hate John Mayer.

Fact: you say I’m on a train if you’re heading somewhere social however you say I’m on the train if you’re heading to work.

Like a child unwrapping a toy remote control car on Christmas Day, I opened my laptop this morning with wide eyed ambition and youthful exuberance. Unfortunately, all this positivity was hacked mercilessly to death by the scerated broadsword of reality. It’s another Monday morning, absolutely identical to every other Monday morning in every way. And as the train pulls away from Ballarat station at precisely 7:46am en route for the hive, Melbourne, the revelation insists itself upon me that the toy remote control car was a lovely gesture, but the batteries weren’t included. Last year, I was doing backstroke in woman shaped pools of beer and scotch and fun. Now I’m barely treading water in suits and budgets and targets and I’m pretty sure I’ll soon be dead from drowning in all these ridiculously misguided metaphors.

“stay positive”. That’s what you need to do big Shane-o. Stay positive. That’s the key. Wise advice but as I sit here amongst the biological droids on their way to their respective nine to fives, I’m starting to wonder, (in fact, now I am in full wonderment), if the “stay positive” approach is the long term solution or just a disease soaked bandaid of inevitable demise. If it is indeed the key, then it’s the key to a door I don’t want to fucking open. A door that leads to a room of suppression and misapprehension. My dear friends will know I perform at my optimum when I’m fired up and angry. From doing the dishes to driving my car, from competitive games to competitive sports, from the boardroom to the bedroom, I do it best when I’m angry, (that’s right babe, you’re beaten battered and bruised and you’re welcome). I’m a big fan of anger. I find it provides the necessary and easily accessible framework for powerful focus. You know what doesn’t help me focus. Yeah that’s right.

So the alternative to staying positive is to remain outright fucking livid, irate and/or any other ill-tempered mood that gives you the sort of drive and focus that could help you punt a fluffy penguin 100 yards. You’re flying now you fat, lazy, overdressed beak donning bird imposter! No amount of staying positive would’ve made fluffy fly. Chalk another one up for anger.

It’s by no means the best way to go about things. But right now, I need to use whatever methods I have at my disposal. If anger can power the Shangatrain (lame) to the last stop, then I shall embrace it. After all, we can’t all be perfect… like John Mayer, sleeping on a bed made out of thousand dollar notes made of satin and being woken up each morning by a bevy of supermodels gently gnawing at the genitals. God I hate John Mayer.