Up all night, and for what?
I try not to doubt myself, but at moments like this...
A year’s planning, wasted. Twelve month’s effort for naught. All I’ve achieved in life, yet again my greatest triumph’s eluded me.
Just like last year.
And every year.
I’ve never been the sort to wallow in self-pity, but sometimes failure weighs on you. Especially failure of this magnitude.
But I suppose tomorrow’s another day.
I take my missiles offline, return my satellite to automated mode, shut down my control center, and head to bed, beaten but not broken.
Next year, Santa.