Tuesday, April 25, 2006

ode to sleep

And slowly I begin to smell of exhaustion, a bittersweet acrid odour redolent of sweat and dried coffee. The curls are damp on my head, soft hints of feather pillows. Then the bleary, burning eyes seem as much a part of me as the aching head, and there’s a tightness across the back of my spine like stretched rubber. My head is a weary mass of thoughts that jumble together in little clumps and snarls and then poetically unravel themselves into sweet ideas that slip away in airy swirls. Every movement is adagio, and the achey strains of Nick Drake and Fiona Apple woo me until I can see my bed again.

Sunday, April 23, 2006

from outside the circle again

I figured out what it is I’m missing. What it is that makes me pretend I'm complete on my own. That made me create this fa
รงade I portray to the world. The thing that makes me have to remind myself to smile. That makes me walk down the road always aware of standing one against the world.
I want to belong. I want a group of friends all my own, who will always care. With whom I can be myself and never bother about repurcussions. In front of whom I can cry without being thought weird or annoying or hyper-sensitive. Whom I can tell about all my shit and who will help me throw it on the fan. Who will share in everything that happens in my life. Who will never talk about me behind my back. Who will always have my back. Who will love me.
I just want to be loved, flaws and all.
How is this ever going to happen?

Wednesday, April 19, 2006


3:40 in the afternoon. I’m bone weary and heart hungry. Perhaps in a few hours I’ll be able to get a positive lesson out of this.
Right now, however, I would like to do a little bit of whining. I find that I lose friends (well, they say they’re my friends) thick and fast when I do it in real life, so I’ll do it here sans the high-pitched whine that is my voice.
It only seems to be really effective if done with the vocal accompaniment.

swear! swear! swear!
swear! swear!
And one last time
swear! !!!

This is something I came up with. Convenient “replace with oath of choice” from the person who does not wish to offend.

To what I actually logged on to say
(apropos of nothing, all my sentences seem to start that way of late – Why must I always "insert relevant verb phrase/insulting adjective(s) of choice")
am I always the one to do all the work? Why do I always end up in a place where everything hinges on me, and I can’t pull it off only because of others’ incompetence?
It isn’t as though-
Am I wasting my life? It sure seems that way, now more than ever. Thank God for some lecturers. It means something when there is no one in your class who has any outside interests apart from "timepass".

This is a grouse about a person.
I hate grice about people. It’s as bad as gossip. I need to get this out of my system, though, before I get ulcers.
Anyone would have been better. Actually… no, only perhaps one person would have been better. I have been lucky in teammates in the past!
Such an incoherent mess this is

You shame me
To go at every task
With the same deter


4:10 pm
I remember my primary grouse
I’m not leader material
Not unless everyone working for me is as good as I am. Or at least has the same ethic. I cannot take shoddy work. At least, I never used to be able to – no. I CANNOT TAKE SHODDY WORK
Things have to be just so. And this place is killing me.
These people are stifling me.
Is it a good thing?
I’m going to end up with a heart problem at this rate.
Architecture is not important
Being the best you can be is not important what am I saying I am making myself cry here.
Am I wasting my life? I need to know. Am I learning anything from this? Five years is not much if it teaches you any of life’s great lessons. I would think so, at least.
I was "swear!"ing ready to make every floor plan

No no no
You need to let it go. I let so many things go. Is it good, in the end, not to try your hardest? Is there a gradation of things you do that tells you which of them you put your heart and soul into and which of them you do with a lick and a promise? I have changed, father William.
The only good thing about this is that I know which blog this is going on.

Look at me. It’s another forty-five minutes before the final presentation is due. All the work I did over the weekend was for nothing. The pain of fruitless labour. Did I ever know this in school? Does everyone know this feeling? Is it character building? Do I care?
They’re here
Lord lord. Let it be all good. This is not a prayer, I can handle it if it doesn’t go good. All I want is my due. That’s all I’ve ever, ever, ever, ever wanted.

Monday, April 17, 2006

self analysis the first; on two at once

I talk too much.
There was a time; a better time, a safer time; when I didn't talk at all. I walked in perpetual fear of ridicule. And because the perpetual fear kept a strict watch on my tongue, I rarely ever said things I regretted. Much.

Now, however, it seems to be a case of constant open mouth, insert foot.
I start to say things, and before I've gotten more than a few words out, I realize that I don't want to finish. Either because the subject matter is too personal, or because I'm not sure that the statement accurately reflects the way I feel, or because I fear that whatever it is I'm about to say might be too inflammatory.
If there is one thing I hate (well, there are lots. which means there's at least one) it is to be wrong. I don't know why. Perhaps it comes with my hating hypocrisy in all forms. If I refuse to tolerate mistakes and ignorance and incompetence in others, there is no way in hell I'm going to tolerate them in myself. Which is another reason why I try never to say anything till I'm absolutely positive about it.

I can tell you I detest bigotry, that I loathe pollution and trash and raping the environment. That I love animals. That I love to read, and sing and write.
These are things I don't anticipate are going to change soon.
I can tell you all about the day I had yesterday. I can quote and paraphrase (and I will be sure to diiferentiate the two, never fear). I can describe in detail everything I remember, and I will only tell you what I remember.

Why is it, though? I have had several theories about this in the past - passion for the truth. desire for clarity. need to be trusted.
If I'm honest with myself, it's probably number 3. I have recently come to the conclusion that almost all my actions are prompted by nothing more than simple self-interest. I want to be comfortable. I want no pain. Frankly, pain terrifies me. I don't mean physical pain; I can (and have) taken torn ligaments and ripped lips (another story, another time). No, I fear pain of humiliation and ridicule. Pain of loneliness and friendlessness. (is there an official phobia for it? i'm sure there will be)
I'm not naturally gregarious, which means I have to work doubly hard to make friends. Networking, is, frankly, a pain in the arse; pardon my french. This means I never let anyone close enough to be completely free with them. Which means I have to make sure they get exactly what I'm saying, and I mean exactly, every single time I speak. And lately, when my guard is down, I end up opening my mouth at inopportune moments, beginning to say something and then stopping short with a brusque "never mind" which invariably gets me yelled at.
I AM A COWARDLY CREATURE WHO RUNS FROM CONFLICT AND UNPLEASANTNESS!!! (unless i'm in the right, in which case, and only in that case, I will fight you to the death (or till there is an amicable consencus (yes, i have a thing for these things (parantheses, dummy)))) close brackets!!!

Of course, it may just turn that I'm psychotically anal and all of this is bull.


Monday morning and an uberload of work that I have no intention of doing.
Had a hundred things to write about, now they've all slipped away.

NTS. Avoid hot chocolate at CCD.

Friday, April 14, 2006

talkin' 'bout a revolution

Ah, the joy of completing work. The company of friends. Suddenly there is a lot more to be thankful for. I am thankful. for family and friends, health and wealth.

thank you

Thursday, April 13, 2006

there is so much

Why are there so many things that grab me by the heart and make me want to cry? Too much sympathy.
Thinking of things: here's a list

There is so much
I will think more


happy cat

cats are good therapy. i want one.

Saturday, April 8, 2006


Suffice it to say that I’m addicted. I’m ashamed to admit it. It isn’t like my delightful addiction to the English, or even the seemingly unhealthy addiction to the san. It is a completely deplorable situation when a person arrives home at ten in the night after a long, tiring and hectic day; and then proceeds to stay online from then till four in the morning, doing nothing more than some seriously overrated networking.

Which brings me to another concern - my constant addiction to time gobbling activities that require minimal or no mental exertion on my part, viz. the TV, the internet, and the book. Perhaps the only thing I can say in justification of these is the fact that my writing is getting, well, not better, but at least more adventurous, and certainly more voluminous. That can’t be all bad, can it? And I am actually learning things in spite of myself; very, very minimal, and very, very rarely, but still!

I want a football team now. (Milan Milan Milan, just for? I have not sufficient information to make a choice.) I have to get Ender. I have to find out if my morbid streak is actually worth tapping. I have to hone my crossword skills. R says it’s one of his passions (look at me, using initials to confuse and protect identities. Who the hell’s reading this but me and, hopefully, random strangers?) and I want to be good enough that I can call it a passion too. I need to set up a plan. Seeing all erstwhile (ow) classmates going their own ways with panache and aplomb really greens me up. I want to know what I’m doing.

Sufficient soul searching.

Is this part of the hangover?

mmm hah

I never knew how much I needed to be in control of the situation
I guess all my hokum about seizing the moment goes perfectly along with this. As long as you are spontaneous personally and of your own free will , you are still in freakin' control.
What does this mean, then?
Good? Bad? Leave-it-the-heck-alone-no-point-wasting-your-time?
What a load of crap it all is
Charting out my future. Never thought I was one of those that thought ahead. I'm probably not.
I tend to think more like backwards, forwards and sideways simultaneously.
It makes for one whole mess of a life.
And some interesting conversations aloud with self.

Saturday, April 1, 2006

for the boy

I want to tell him. I need to tell him, I have to tell him. Telling him to his face, though, that’s way too contrived. So, internet (sorry, drew) it’ll have to be through you.

I want to tell him thank you.

Thank you, thank you. You don’t know what you’ve done (frankly, I don’t know what you’ve done). Suffice it to say you broke my block. You did it, and I haven’t a clue how, but I know it was you. I used to have a problem with giving other people in my life credit for my achievements. Thank you mom and dad, but the rest, that’s all me.
creativity, my effort, my hard work, then why should I give you credit just because you’re the boss of me?)

Not this time, though. Sure, it was still more or less all my hard work, and my creativity and my ideas, but I swear, none of this would have seen the light of day if I hadn’t met you. They would have remained nascent sparks in my brain, ideas that slowly slipped away until all I would have had left would have been a fleeting memory of a good thought. And I already have far too many of those, babe.
You broke down the barrier I’d built up – the one that always screened my writing, through the eyes of conservative family. The one that hesitated to say fuck or sex, that skirted issues and reluctantly let the more controversial thoughts go. The one that always read my work through the eyes of my parents before the words reached the page. You let me write what I needed to write; and for that, thank you, thank you a thousand time over.
I don’t think it’s gonna change in a day. Believe me, I know. I know I’m still editing as I write, still replacing the crystal with the obscure, the clear with the hinted.
But some things should be hinted, I think. And I think it’ll be a while before I let family see my writing. Writing tells far far too much about a person. It lays bare things you never knew about yourself; the best means of self-analysis there is. I’m gonna wait until I’m confident enough to take others’ analysis before I let them see mine.
One final note before I close – thank you. It can never be said enough.