(written in the morning at work, but posted in the evening. For some reason IT feels the need to block blogspot while allowing facebook access *sigh* )
Do people think I’m rude for not replying to all the nice comments? I mostly believe I’m being trolled, so think it wouldn’t do to dignify them with responses. Plus I don’t even know what everyone is reading here, all I see are disconnected, abortive entries written in fifteen minute snatches of time. I woke up this morning to a massively long email on my blackberry from the friend getting married, explaining all the things that I didn’t ask, going on and on about how she’s thought through the entire quasi abandoning her parents and her country thing. She’s one of my two closest friends, but that was the worst possible way to start my day (and I’m saying this at 8:39 AM). And in true asshole style, I replied saying ‘let’s just stop talking about this, I’m completely sick of it.’
Don’t invite me to your weddings, folks. Unless you need a non supportive type around who’ll spot all your insecurities and weaknesses and press those buttons. And when you work your issues out in your head and try and explain, will say ‘we’re still talking about this shit? Bo-ring.’
I’m not completely sure whether I’m mad that she wants so little for her life or jealous. It really annoys me that I can’t get completely on board till I’m convinced. And because of my very comprehensive laundry list of reasons of why I don’t think this marriage is a good idea right now, I will continue to act like an asshole. If not in this clearly apparent way, then by not getting completely involved and excited. Which is heart breaking because this is one of the most important people in the world to me, and it’s all I can do to just get myself to behave. And not that I need to fill you in, internet, but I’ve had this conversation with her. When I was in Udaipur, that’s all we did, except our version of the conversation was full of shouting and tears (on her part) and lots of hitting below the belt. And now there’s 35 days left and I’m just going to continue trying not to be an asshole, okay?
Whether it was waking up to the stupid email or otherwise, I’m completely overwhelmed this morning *crosses fingers and chants ‘menses, menses, menses’* But I did see a truck full of soldiers on my way to work. Men in uniform, is there anything hotter? *’menses, menses, menses’* I’m terrified at the moment. I have this completely overwhelming horrible, irrational fear that I refuse to articulate till it’s safe for me to do so. It’s given me a lot of perspective and also made me realize the only person I think of in such times is my mother. That should indicate the level of debilitation we’re talking about, that all I want is my mother.
I’m traveling for a week in 4 days time and my productivity has completely plummeted in anticipation. I don’t think I can survive a whole 8 hours of ‘work’ but I also have a lot to do. I toy with the idea of allowing myself an entirely useless day, where I just fuck around till it’s time to go home. I constantly sense that my priorities are changing but immediately come back to craving the kind of serenity that comes with limited human relationships, barring ones cats and family. I really want to be able to completely switch off at any one aspect of my life, and keep wishing that could be work. This is a terrible thing to be writing before 10 AM on a Monday morning while at work.
As much as I love the completely silent hours in the office in the morning, I miss studying and having time to myself. I hate that I feel like there are things I can and can’t do for whatever reasons. I don’t particularly care for the self – doubt and laziness either. Fucking hell, internet! All I wanted was to say I’m sorry for not feeding the trolls and look at the epic of early morning whining that this post has become. To compensate I feel the need to tell you that a certain manager in my team is currently in the simultaneous process of quitting and getting hair plugs. I imagine the sex is very good in the short manager household as a result of this surge in self esteem.
Today morning in the loos at work there was a woman talking on the phone. She was saying things like ‘It’s a huge responsibility. He can’t expect you to not have reservations going in. I mean, it’ll change your whole life, everything will be about it! Everything will revolve around it! You won’t be able to hang out again with us, you’ll never have any free time!’ So I also thought, oh wow, she’s maybe having a baby, right? Turns out she was talking about taking on a new project from an existing client. I feel fettered by my gender here. Like lugging around labia and a vagina is fucking things up for me in some secret chimerical way that I can’t quite tell. The Murphy with ONLY 16 pairs of shoes longs for a genderless future of standard issue silver flight-suits and a blanket ban on free will and individuality.