Murphy of the clods of mud

Anais Nin, her of the floatiness of her femininity sums up the fastest half year that has ever gone by.

"I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing."

And what I find both disturbing and affirmatively reassuring - "Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them."

Here's to mental stability.

Murphy is ill and her mouth tastes of bile. Which tastes a bit like chocolate. And Murphy is going back to the only place she can be happy, irrespective of her stuffy, stick in the mud, fuddy duddy (?) ideas.
So, basically, besides the bile things are mother effing FINALLY looking up :)

As Nusrat so succinctly put it, mere baad kisko sataaonge?

The one where Murphy tries not to sound morose and is kind of happy in a singing George Michael songs kind of way

There are way too many things I have no control over. My work is a monster with a mind and life of its own. I have no idea which part of the country I'll be in for the next 5 months. The people in my life are all over the place, to the point where I think I'm unclear on how I feel about a lot of them. It's kind of exciting, to be on the cusp of something. What is exasperating is not knowing what you're on the cusp of.
Internet, there has to be a simpler way of laying your soul bare. I've moved on to a place where I think I need new people to find myself through what they perceive to be. The constant motion and the ambivalence has left me a blank slate. Which is the bit where this post starts sounding un-morose. I think this might be the most exciting thing to happen to me in a long time. I can be anybody.
Good job Murphy. You totally don't sound morose but you do sound kind of crazy. But that's partly my point. I can't feel morose anymore because I have nothing to be morose about. This has meant giving up on a lot of things, a lot of history, but dudes, I got tired of carrying that around. Some stories ought to end, right? Particularly ones which aren't giving the leading lady anything to think about late at night when she battles hotel induced insomnia. That is the problem. The Murphy's mind is fantastically vacant and being the large mind it is, the vacancy is rather overwhelming.
Therefore, in conclusion to this rambling hot mess of a post, I'm holding auditions for new people in my life. I'm looking for someone who will give me something to think of for hours after a single text message, people I can use to get to know the world and my spiffy new self a little better. Most importantly I'd like some people who're cool with being around for a while because the constant in and out traffic is kind of getting to me.
Also it would help if you knew the words to Father Figure. All auditions at spitleaf@gmail.com.
Love and tingly vibes.
xox
Murphy

Murphy cringes all the time

I'm becoming murderous with disappointment. I thought I needed to leave Delhi for a while, that it'll be good for me to get away from everything and everyone that's got so firmly under my skin. But it turns out I'm carrying my discontentment around with me, that being away from Delhi doesn't mean my thoughts aren't very much there. I didn't see this coming, this ridiculous situation that I find myself in, that I'd have laughed at and in my rare moments of clarity still do laugh at.
My grammar is all kaput.
So it turns out that Delhi and its bastard minions exercise a very powerful hold over me. I'm constantly trying to figure out strategies to be able to feel like me again. Because, Internet, I honestly don't. Feel like myself anymore. It's become a constant struggle to simply keep the demons at bay. And it's not like I'm very good at it either. I constantly fall, am fallen, and will keep falling. And I try, I try to be all me-like, which is an aloof, stuck up bitch, but I WANT all the fucking time.
I'm not sure why I'm equating my situation to Delhi. It's probably part of another ridiculous strategy (I can't even keep up with my schemes anymore) to just be able to break this ridiculous firm hold on me. It's not Delhi. It's not its bastard minions. It's a breakdown of the very basic things I believed about myself. Turns out I'm not one-tenth as awesome and cool as I thought.

A while ago when I was stuck in the very comfortable sluggishness of stability I craved emotional upheaval. And I'm trying to objectively think about what I want. The artistic pining has only one thing in its favour. It makes me feel alive and human. Gay though that sounds, it's something that slips away from me fairly easily. Without it I tend to go into a nihilistic place where I just couldn't be arsed to do any fucking thing. I shut off completely and cruise along on auto-pilot.
The alternative, this rollercoaster of disappointment and hope makes me nauseous and want to vomit and be left alone.
Eh. I just reread that and am embarrassed about how this sounds. Ah well.

In other news, I'm getting no work done.

It isn't enough for your heart to break because everyone's heart is broken now.

Two AM is the time I coach my on how not to become increasingly dependent on the ridiculous patterns my life inevitably ends up following. I end up playing out the same story with a different set of people every ten months or so. Which brings me to the question, what on earth do I like so much about this story that I insist on returning to it, with a new starring cast every time? I have come to the unfortunate conclusion that I thrive on pointless drama and contrived tensions between people and I never ever want to have the kind of placid happiness that comes from an uneventful life.
My life, she sucks.
I don't think my current lifestyle, for lack of a better word, is very conducive to getting rid of the constant trite resignation that defines my days. I am constantly in my head, planning out the moves I will very carefully make in the games I have no wish to be playing in the first place. Most importantly I would really like to start looking at people as who they really are and not characters in my gigantic farce being staged for an audience of a lone, self-obsessed, cantankerous, deluded woman.
Most of all I would like to be able to be honest to people. And not get caught up in the show.

Like Billy Joel said, I've reached the age where competence is a turn on.

Turns out I have not won after all.

It's so fucking hot. My last few days as a twenty one year old are literally melting away into a pool of discontented stickiness.
The good news is that I think I have won. HAH!