Yet again, I'm supposed to be working, but amn't (thanks Po!). I've washed my hair, I've spent hours doing literally nothing, looking at random photographs of people I haven't thought of in ages, hung out with Bambi who is really not helping by reiterating how I'm wasting my life and yawning his rat encrusted halitosis breath all over me, etc. etc.
So after this post, I get down to work. A totally old school session of burning the midnight oil.
But first, dude, I want to clarify that this slow and deliberate fuckwittage might be considered a form of foreplay in some cultures, but in mine it just means A WHOLE DAY WASTED AND NO WORK DONE.
People, we're all adults. When do we start saying what we want to?
I conceptually understand that one does not become free-spirited by just wanting to not be a wreath of night-shade, but I can't help but think that certain people are plotting against me achieving the awesome peacefulness and happiness and hippieness that I can! The thought is tantalising and I'm just waiting for the opportunity to make my break for it.

Robustly sane Murphy

What's up, internet? Things are good with me, thanks for asking. Lots of work, been making an ass out of myself fairly regularly, being bullied around by the resident felines. Same old.
It's the time of the year Murphy took stock of the old hat rack. Validated the ol' conclusions and revisited the ol' notions. Unfortunately, the results are pretty damning.
So the big plan is to just somehow get through this crapola arrangement of the stars and:
- not make an ass of myself
- eat more ice-cream
- read more
- work less
- oil hair thrice a week
- study for exams (sigh)
- listen to my cats and not let their disdain push me down the spiral of shame and self loathing
- say what I want to, when I want to
- not kick my nauseatingly happy friends in the teeth
- stay away from the trifecta of control issues, alcohol and men
- gain perspective on how to live life from the resident felines
- not be so bored
- spend more wela time on the internet
- cycle!
- learn krav-magah and kick people's asses for annoying me
- eat more south-indian food
- not watch depressing movies that make you think about your life
- organise earring collection
- find new music to listen to
This post is stupid and I have work to do. Clearly, this is not helping. But I think I'm going to blog more. Being whiny more consistently online. I have truly hit rock-bottom.

Bahut nikle mere armaan, lekin phir bhi kam nikle

The whole growing up deal. You start out thinking it implies something. That bits of you will just die. You can't feel things the way you once did, all too easily, all too frequently.
But then. There are these moments, where the universe cuts you down to size in a split second. And all of a sudden it feels like there's an actual tumour in your chest caused by feeling everything a little too intensely. A hardened lump of what you assume (secretly hope) will go away and leave you relatively more dignified and a little more boring, but also significantly more peaceful.
Where you think that shitfuck you might just die from feeling things too intensely.
Being old doesn't get to mean losing the wussiest bits of you I guess.

I'm craving one, just one, perfect conversation. With anyone. It's been too long, Internet. It makes me feel old, like I'm living in a Truman Show with really bad writing.
ATTENTION TRUMAN SHOW TYPE SHOW WRITERS: get your shit together, will you?
Just one lousy perfect conversation is what I'm asking for!

Paean on regret

It bums me out infinitely that every time I turn to this increasingly non bright and shiny blog I have moved further away from my ideal. So today again, I am narrow and the spaces inside are constricted and there is no room for breathing or people.
There will never be room, so let's really not bother.

Like a fat girl misses cake

I miss having time to myself, wallowing in boredom and the delicious pointlessness of idle hours.