not letters

I have begun to hate letters, and then I return here, to the blue, because this is where I used to be able to say the things I was too afraid to say elsewhere. And here I can say things that sound like bitching because they are; bitchy bitchy aieee i just bethought me of that song, sigh, and now a little smile has come and what's the frigging point of trying to spew if i keep turning around and amusing myself? and they don't listen, not one of them listens, and i want to scream it, you don't listen, you don't understand, only that comes back to me, to me, immaturity again, but they still don't see the words, they still try to find a way around the words, why would i use them if i didn't mean them, but then that's a wrong question, because of course i only mean them in that moment and after that they're lost and nonsense and gone and boys are the worst. i hate them. and i will return your present, i should never have taken it, no present is worth having to be convinced that it is a nice present and even as i took it i felt it was an afterthought, and i can't accept it; thank you but no thank you; i will keep the postcard but not the perfume, thank you but no thank you; only how will i give it back? i must i must, only how? and other presents across the sea and i don't want them either because here comes the déjà vu, and nothing so much as other books with scrawled messages, and i don't want an end like that and i wish i'd never known because surprises are better always better because only surprises cannot end in disapointment and none of you get it because you don't listen, you never listen. and i tell you and tell you and try to tell you, and all of you only hear what you want to hear, every last one of you, and i see why people have girl friends.
and the blue is not a message, and it isn't meant to be a message, it isn't for you to come here and read all i have written and try to find in my rambling something that fits you because this is for me, for me, and if it refers to you as it may do, it's still not for you because were you invited, i think not, and don't assume unless you were. don't assume but always ask, because people like me need to be asked before they tell, i won't volunteer, and none of you hear that, though i shout it till my face is blue, i won't tell you if you don't ask unless it is something cruel and mean and bitchy, then i'll tell you because the words are so much easier then. easier easier like now see the words come tripping out and i don't even have to think twice because i am all those things, see? selfish and cruel. it's a lot more fun than sensitive.
and this time it has been a message, more than most, it has, i feel it, there is a something i want the three of you to see here. and perhaps four, but she knew all this anyway and probably better than me.
and i feel decidedly better. not enough, not enough; but better, noticeably, appreciably, actually.
*sigh*
well.

temper tantrums

When do I get to grow up?

tainted

If you want to know, ask me.
Exasperation abounds.
It bodes not well for you.

This one is specific, see?

overeating the mushroom danishes

It's a very simple pattern, once you've seen it.
I wish I didn't stick to it so determinedly, is all.
And I wish people weren't so easy to hurt.
It's Christmas and I just want to spend it crying. How much fun is that?
As much fun as driving lost. In the afternoon. With eyes burning. And the sister moaning in the passenger seat.
No, I lie. It's worse.
I'm not happy.

I'm NOT HAPPY.
I want people to ask me about it.
Why doesn't anyone ever? Does no one care?

patients

stars dangle from my ears, and i avoid, and avoid, and avoid.
and wait and wait and wait.
patience. not so hard.

other worries.
gumption? just as hard as ever.
*sigh* will i manage it?
i fear i won't be able to. pride will not allow.
i want a fever.

or even a TATOO.
ooh.
:D
why, you bad girl.

not quite fiction

I dreamt of you last night, and it was not a pleasant dream.
I dreamt of you, and I remembered much that I had not known I had forgotten.
I dreamt of you, and it was a dream that might have happened, all those years past; a dream where we all behaved as we were used to behave; where you were everything you were, and I was everything I was, or as little.
I dreamt you did as you always did; tore my dreams to shreds; drove my confidence to tears; belittled, befuddled, betrayed. I dreamt I did as I always did; let you do it all, uncomplainingly.
And I dreamt I ran home to my loneliness; and found succour in imaginary worlds, and comfort inside my own head, as I do even now.
Perhaps if I had been made of sterner stuff, I would have found in the ridicule some strength to carry me through; but all I got from you were doubt and insecurity, and an idea that I was unworthy of anyone's affection, attention, respect.

Last night I found something I'd once written; crude, unpolished, arrogant. Confident. And I wondered, Why, where did I go?
Last night I dreamt of you - you cruel coward; you bully; you condescending, insensitive, foul-mouthed excuse for a human being.
I was a miserable child in school, I tell people. I'd forgotten exactly how miserable I was.
And you were a reason. About time I acknowledged it.

well. *i* thought it was funny.

You begin to bore, dear.
You begin to boar, deer.

Oh dear. Now I feel like smiling.
:)
How can words always manage to make everything better?

So, listen. Everything is not cryptic.
No, really.
Are you listening?

...

I want to be somebody's first love.

vee

Some people are just so right to hug.
:)

didn't like the last post

and i'm tired of feeling inadequate.
where is it?
where is mine?

tell me again.

d'you hear?
tell. me. again.

frownings

I think the smartest plan is to go celibate.
Or become a paid escort.
My head is not happy with me.

sigh

And I foresee only heartache.

road tripping

I worry that I will spend the three days on an outside. I worry that I will end up being a hanger-on, a burden, an also-ran. I worry that I will be stupid and boring and annoying. I worry that I will bring everybody down. I worry that I will have nothing to say, and nothing to add, and no purpose there at all. I worry that I will come away from this weekend with bile in my mouth and salt water in my eyes.
New friends are so hard on the nerves.

I am terrified by how much I want this. And freaked out at how terrified I am.
I worry about the vibes.
Will I be okay?

Adventures. They should be worth the risk, no?

two weeks noticed

Mediocrity is its own punishment.
I'm sorry. I had to go.

Perhaps it's better. I'm not a nice person to be around right now.

idiot

Nooooooooooooooooooooo.
And it was planned three whole insane weeks ago!
aarghaarghaargh you enormous moron, you.

:(
fack.

so is it me, or isn't it?

exactly the same thing again.
exactly.
which means what?
i don't even want to try figuring it out.
when will i?


ughughdéjàvuugh
fucking hate it.

and i wish i'd never started writing.

points of pride

Everything I was afraid of, and I did better than I expected.
In the midst of unexpected surprises I find out I'm stronger than in my dreams.

After all it is wonderful to exceed expectations. And when they're your own, you're both sides. Almost suffocating.

azure means blue

Yesterday, then. Yesterday was another of those days simply full of itself. What a delightful dreadful double meaning. Watched two movies, with company pleasant and painful. Lay on a terrace in the sun. Thought about old people. Five people who knew me. Boy, but T gets around, doesn't she?
And he's here. And I worked so hard to patch it up that I'm afraid to take the chance it might give way. I'm not ready to go through all that again.

And this morning I came online; or tried to - Just one post, I told myself. Just to write about yesterday. And there was no connection, and the server couldn't be found, and I kept thinking "bell jar bell jar bell jar" Is it really that easy to go insane? I think so.
jawline. what does it mean?
I would like some chocolate cake.
I'm afraid of my presents.
Can no one help?

feeling stupid

ache hurt ache hurt ache
I
all the old aches, in new ways and for new reasons
And a person who does not know how much it hurts
scorn, disdain, condescension
And have I not done it, and is this not why?
So what right have I?
And still, oh, the pain, the pain

And then the words are so tragically infuriatingly inadequate
And that's
worse

Oh, help
Oh, God
Oh, don't

rather have had the nobody

Oh, dear.

and what are you afraid of?

If you were here, would you?
Would you want to?
And I cannot find it in myself to ask.

Wasn't expecting what I got.

forgive me for gloating

The fact that no one understands you doesn't make you an artist.

I still won.
Both.
guh.

Oh, ms. egovanity; go away, do.
You may return over the weekend.

watching horizons

I need to talk again.
Where is everyone?

wanting hugs for aches that won't fix

Had a very long tiring day
Went for a fest
And am very tired
and feeling useless and not talented and stupid etc
And don't think I won anything
Feeling so low :(
Tomorrow will tell whether or not today was a waste of time
I hate wastes of time
Makes T cranky

I want to do these things
And I have wasted five years
And college life will be over
And I will never have been in a band
Or sung anything
Or acted in a play
Or gone for DC or pictionary or word game
Or anything
I'm so UNHAPPPYYYYY

Brain is frizzled :(

Five people gave hugs. So many? Only five.
:(
I want more.

yes, but

be careful, anyhow

19/11/2006 19:56:15
Wake. Up.
Owwww
Are you here?
19/11/2006 22:45:44
Now I am
But what use is it?


And how soon after I wrote this did you stop by? :)

fickleties

fickle tease.

isn't language pretty?
i take shame and weakness and make it dance.

meanwhile?
all fixeded.
though i don't think it's fair that others have things to read while i don't.
so take that, mister man. yes, i mean you.
thou, even.
:D
being bad is funner than other. what a pity.

besotted part 2

I have a new addiction now. It seems as though I cannot go without an addiction. Addiction to addictions, isn't that funny?
The latest is conversations. Suddenly I need to talk. All the time. And have people listen. Listen and talk and pick apart the things I'm saying. I want Conversations. So I come online every morning the instant I wake up and I log in to every messenger and I wait for one of six people. And one of those is you.

So, on Monday, my birthday, somebody goes, "May I ask you a favour? Don't talk to me for the next week."
I say, "Sure."
And it's been a day and a half, and I see that it's far too hard. There's no one to talk to, and I don't want to keep writing to strangers who come to the blog and then never reply. And no one's online; and the ones who are online can't talk because they're busy, and I should be busy too, only I don't want to be because I want to talk. My entire body is one big itch.

I've been asking about good psychiatrists.
Do you know any?

And in case you couldn't tell, this is one (1) number besotted chatterbox requesting company. Specifically, yours.
Or even letters. Letters would help.
Something to read from other people. Something for me. Stop by and say something? It means so much.

(crossposted)

besotted part 1

One can tell exactly how much the current boy is messing up my head by how often I post here. One can also tell most of what's going on in the head by reading said posts. Apparently this time is rather worse than all preceding. The worst part is that I can't remember anything from before except the words. (oh say, will i ever forget the words? ever? from any? bhow, who knows. i doubt it muchly. i wouldn't be me then, probably.) And that means I can't tell if it's different at all. Sure, nothing else makes sense, and nothing else is comfortable, and the time sense has gone on leave again; but the same things happened every time before. I am very tired. I am horribly lonely. If I don't watch myself, I'll do things I shouldn't, and say things I don't really mean, only because I leap ahead of myself again.
Leap to conclusions on pain of death.
Everything right where it belongs.
I need to get me some company outside this box.

favours

Of course, you said. Yes, you said.
So just you sit tight and keep your paws off the keyboard, missy. Think of it as design-time. Think of it as time to write that novel. Think of it as test of willpower. Think of it as anything at all, just don't do anything you'll regret.
Not knowing is not the end of the world.
Say it with me: self control. Self Control. SELF CONTROL.
Remember the Pratchetts. Remember the Biggles. Remember.
Phe.

I wish there were a way to just thump myself upside the head and get myself to listen to me.
I need to find myself a new distraction, the best would be if it is design, I can do it!! but Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, the letters are not helping one bit.
>:(

grrawr. arrgh. rrawr. hiss. spit.
the head is having fun making sounds :)

ungrateful

And some days I feel so full I need to let the things ooze out. Everything in the world all mine and I resent old ladies and begrudge them their little pleasures. Am I that selfish?
And I stand in dark rooms with forehead against cool walls, stand on marble till my feet grow frozen numb, sit with one leg curled under and the other knee below chin; hug myself and hate myself.
I let the aches ooze through the bones.
I let the songs slip under the skin.
And think of nothing.

If it's all in the head, then what is this pain in the chest?

how, then?

And the odd thing is how the people who love you often have the worst advice in the end. Except mothers.

do you remember?

mustn't mustn't mustn't.
must must must.
many many ows.

Irony is pretty.

birthday blues

How well that sounds.

I want them to say, "We're going out, will you come?
"Oh, do; without you the day will be awf'ly humdrum!"
I want to be loved. Multipl-y.
So selfish.

What will satisfy?
As much as I can, that's what.

again

third time lucky?
third time's the charm?
all good things come in threes?

oh, hell, no.
i'm running away from this one.
watch me run.
watch me.
catch me.

*sigh*
may i sob?

oh, help

i'm not making any sense.

how many times a day am i going to go through this?

hum

somebody wants somebody

kindred spirits

And after all it is wonderful to find someone to whom you can confess your most shameful failings without editing them first. And, to my surprise, this time I have avoided the second guessing and the weaving, or perhaps all I've done is managed to step outside. Is that not wonderful? Hmm, what dost thou think? :D
Oh, lucky. This is friend.
I wish one for everyone.

And may I quote you compliments from other quarters?
Interesting how the perspective changes, from close-up to deep focus.
It's good but there's potential for improvement.
The feeling for language is there, that is the essential part.
Also a feeling for character development and dialogue.
The ability is there. Now you need to tame it, harness its full potential.
If any of it was polite lying, I will break my heart.

foot in mouth

perhaps i should never have said anything.



now all other words are stuck in limbo. i need to bite things.

betrayal

When you let yourself down; when you let your ideals go; when you break your own heart - then what right have you to ask others to treat you better?

What right have you to expect them to?

...and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl, whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them...

I feel the need to weep, but then, when have I ever been able?
Make me cry? No one did it the last time I asked.

twice over

How does one go from feeling empowered and ecstatic and high, to feeling like there's absolutely nothing in life worth living for?

Yesterday. We went out as women. We went out to reclaim our streets. We stood where the men stood. We displaced the gawkers; we returned stare for stare.
We made flashers run. We made a grown man cry. We reminded people of shame.
We removed our blinkers. We saw power in numbers we hadn't know before. We discovered things about our own selves we'd never suspected. We found out about limitations. And about our strengths.
We felt like goddesses. And like women.

Why, then, do I feel like there is something precious I've lost?

never wanted it

I love you.






Sometimes I say it only because I like the feel of it in my skin.
But I never know if I mean it.

I need some really good curse words.

i wish...

...never to disappoint anyone but myself.


And lately when I come home and can't write out whatever it is that's been in my head on the ride home, I feel a sense of desolation completely disproportionate to reason. The very thought of all my tangled fancies slipping away before I have a chance to grab them and make them behave? Makes me want to cry.
How strange everything is.

say

Would you, please?
Always.

who do you love?

Do we love more the people who need us or the people who hurt us?
The ones who need us but will never ever tell?
The ones who think they need us , and cling?
The ones who take us for granted?
The ones who stay?
The ones who leave?

The ones who match or the ones that don't?

whom, whom.
did y'all notice?

wide wondering

Darlings, are you all this nice to me on purpose?
My heart is one big happy puppy.
Tomorrow promises to bring me down, but for now I will revel.

What deserves so much?
if i fell.
i would dance.
blisters.
lashes.
senseless ramblings because i'm afraid to say too much.
thank you is so inadequate.

I feel the marble under my bare feet, and i feel as light as candyfloss.
Oh, I want to write reams and reams and instead I'm doing my design. Is that fair?
Hummmmmming. Does a single one of you know I mean you?

my sweet hunk o' trash

honeys, what does it mean when everyone's reading this blog as well?
"What a bewildering variety of blogs! The complexities of the inter-relations between them could keep a professional critic busy for months." :)

Is it that hard? Not really. But the time frames do tell.
I love the unconnectedness of this one. And all its innuendo. I could look back at this five years from now and not remember what I was talking about. I'm still afraid of my pain. And I love how I would simultaneously post a melodramatic scream over here and some lighthearted piece of fluff over there. And all the posts that became the poems, and the poems that became posts. Perhaps it is only indicative of how many people I am. I still like being multiples.


Summertime and the livin's easy,
Fish are jumpin', and the cotton is high.
Oh yo' daddy's rich and yo' ma is good lookin',
So hush, little baby, don' yo' cry.
One of these mornin's you goin' to rise up singin',
Then you'll spread yo' wings an' you'll take to the sky.
But till that mornin', there's a-nothin' can harm you
With Daddy and Mammy standin' by.

With music, how can the world be bad?

aching people

when is it time to give up on someone? old not-friends and childhood demons. i can't seem to care so much. is that my fault or his?

ouch

Is it even legal to feel this way?

accusations

Once I thought we were friends. I thought there was something we had that we'd never lose, that would always remind us of the things we'd shared. I thought all the things you told me meant you cared, but I was wrong.
You did not love me or trust me enough to say, "Baby, I'm falling in love with your best friend. Isn't it fabulous?"
And all the little words that might have made it better I had to tell myself because you didn't (or couldn't, or wouldn't) - that you would always care, that you would always be there; that you loved me no less because you loved her more.
And all these things I told myself, and all these things I told myself, through all the lonely nights when I felt alone and rejected and forgotten; and it took me all I had to do what you could have done with just the least of your time and effort and concern.
You pretended nothing had changed. Did you care so little for me that you could not share what you were going through? Did you have such a low opinion of me that you could not trust me with your life? And all that time I thought I'd done something wrong, ah me, oh my, silly little self-centred always about me. And you told me nothing, gave me nothing; just tossed out some empty sentences with nothing behind them - sops to the dog.
And you never thought that I would be better off knowing whatever was going on; rather than stuck behind your stupid chinese walls. And you never gave a second thought to anything I might be thinking of or going through; and you left me confused and hurt and blaming myself. And for that I have not forgiven; and I have not forgotten.

Is everyone who hurts me going to pretend they didn't?

maggi hot & sweet tomato chili sauce

Is it?
Oh, but I want it to be. It's so easy. Everything about is easier. But does that mean it's any better? Am I smarter in any way at all? Or is it back to the old cycle circles? Is that the most important thing? Guilt and shame. And still I smile. What does that say about me? What does that say about anybody involved? I will. I shall. I have confidence the world can all be mine, oh help. But I still will.

Too many words that I am still scared to say out loud. I'm not that much better after all, oh.

101

Missed the century.

It seems as though it has been far too long since the last time I sat down with my doubts and had one of our little chats. Suddenly they've come around knocking again, and they know where the spare key is hidden. So I turn around and suddenly they're making themselves at home, and I'm stuck with the old shivers once more. Little things no longer satisfy.

My teeth have been singing today. How shameful to have a talent you do not care to exploit. And how disgraceful to ignore the advice of those who love you because following it is an inconvenience. Is there nothing you would do? No grand plan, desire? Is there nothing you would work your fingers to the bone for?
Oh, you lazy, lazy fool. Is this what you call a life?
I don't think I like you all that much.


In other thoughts, how long can I go? It must be seen.

visitors

And this makes five. Two invited, three not. And how many of them ever do stop by? I promised her I wouldn't self-edit. Must I promise myself the same? I don't think so, Tim. This page is obscure enough as is, and if people know what I mean, there's only joy in it.

Smiling every day. Is it better than the madness before? Re-reading the old is a trip and a half. Was I really that unhappy?
Apparently I fixed me somewhere along the way.
Am I better in any way at all? I'm certainly happier. That's important, surely?

He should learn to ping. I refuse to be the one every time.
And is there a scale? Poor baby. Isn't it enough to know someone cares?
:) I echo myself.

dammit dammit dammit

come online.
idiot.
letters are no good at all.


What does it mean when everything else feels like a waste of time?

not titled

sweet-heart

done

vestiges discarded.
I feel good :)


Now all that's making my life miserable is the work.
As is appropriate.
*sigh* I hate architecture.

déjà vu

It's past two in the morning and I'm waiting for people again.
What i can see, though, is that the action is the same, the same, the same; but the feeling is different. I feel older. Wiser. Less susceptible. Less vulnerable.

A drive in peak traffic with four hyper-active sixteen-year-olds. Chinese chop-suey.
Styx yesterday.
My days are strange.

I want some.
But much less this time.
Very good.


Some cheesecake would be nice.

refusal

How strange it is that I will go to any lenghts to ignore all signs. It's tragic and so human I want to scream. Are we all the same, then? I want something special about me.
Besides the fact that I have a nice speaking voice over the phone and that I'm rather pleasant conversation.
Hm. Are those enough to get by?

shy

I wish I had the gumption to put myself forward when i need to.
I wish everything didn't end with me having to say oh you stupid, stupid girl.
I need more self-confidence. And some more ego. That shows.

i want to sing this

Lay me down gently, lay me down low,
I fear I am broken and won't mend, I know.
One thing I ask when the stars light the skies,
Who now will sing me lullabies,
Oh who now will sing me lullabies.

In this big world I'm lonely, for I am but small,
Oh angels in heaven, don't you care for me at all?
You heard my heart breaking for it rang through the skies,
So why won't you sing me lullabies,
Oh why won't you sing me lullabies.

I lay here; I'm weeping for the stars they have come,
I lay here not sleeping; now the long night has begun.
The man in the moon, oh he can't help but cry,
For there's no one to sing me lullabies,
Oh there's no one to sing me lullabies.

So lay me down gently, oh lay me down low,
I fear I am broken and won't mend, I know .
One thing I ask when the stars light the skies,
Who now will sing me lullabies,
Oh who now will sing me lullabies.

Who will sing me to sleep
Who will sing me to sleep
Who will sing me to sleep
Who will sing me to sleep


ooh, ooh. how infintely lovely. i am loved, did you know?

timidity and old scores

From the other

I want to share a story. It's a long story, and I give you my apologies for that. But if you care at all, please read it. It matters to me what you think.

Once upon a time I met a guy. Once upon a time we set up a charming online flirtation. Once upon a time was my first time, and I went a little overboard. Once upon a time someone introduced me to blogging, and chatting, and the charm of esoteria. Once upon a time I was almost in love.

And then I found something someone had written about it.

Note: I can't find it in me to link to his blog (and not the least because I don't want to unwittingly increase his site meter count <-- joke). He was kind enough not to point fingers at me, and hence I will do the same. Please only read what I have quoted.

So here, then, is the second part of a post our friend wrote about women. The despicable weaker sex. This is the part that concerns me. Read into it what you will.

One of my best friends had one really awkward experience. One girl who saw him in saarang met him online and started chatting. Perfectly ok right. Just an increase in friend circle. But second day onwards mails started becoming real romantic. (I am real sorry dost that I didnt take ur permission before writing all this.) My friend a real sane person realized that something was wrong. How can this happen so soon. Being in iit we are not so used to life moving so fast.
One week over he realized she was chatting with anyone and everyone in the institute. I am really happy for the guy that he came out of this real soon. Didnt want him to become an emotional wreck.
Moral of the story, the things which you get real easy are not at all worth the attempt.
ps there is one actual friend of mine. It is not my story told in third person :)
Ok understood that the girl might be more impressed with the iit brand than iitians themselves. So it was like any iitian chalta hai types. Not that my friend is some dumbass. He is the best of the best and he can beat you in anything hands down but I guess for her she didnt realize she was missing a diamond for gen stones. Of course for seeing that you got to have an eye for it, if you are so busy with all the chalta hai guys then how will you ever be able to spot the gold.
Story doesnt end here. Lack of girls in iit has allowed the girls who come in contact with us take us for granted. They are so confident about themselves that they think we can never say no to them. That we want to hit on every dumb bitch we see on the streets. I agree some of us are like that and I dont claim to be any different . I also try to do that but at least I dont want it to be easy. I dont want my girl to come in my arms the second day itself. I want it to be hardwork. I identify a girl's worth with the attempt you put for her. Too easy to get implies too slutty. Too hard might be taken as a snob but at least they will be worth the attempt. They dont get impressed easily and when they finally do, they dont leave you for any tom dick and harry.

What I did after I read this, I'm not proud of. I could not believe there existed in this world people who, if faced with the facts would not turn around and at least admit their validity.
(Such naïveté. I cannot smile about it yet.)

So the first thing I did was write this.
The next thing I did? I sent him a letter.

hmmm.
am i right in thinking this is about whomever i'm thinking about?
if i'm not, please feel free to read no further and just delete this mail. Seriously.

If i am, then, by God. I don't even have the words to say the things i'm thinking. Same old same old. People just end up thinking exactly whatever they want about you whether they know you or not, right? Cest la vie. Bitter bile that i've been used to since my school days.
Just tell your 'friend' to clear it up with the concerned person before he starts bad-mouthing them all over the place, ok? I thought better of him than that.


And the reply I got:

it was about you only, that small part...and as for him he doesnt bad-mouth anyone...just wanted to share this incident with me thats how i come into the picture...you just couldnt realize what you were missing when you went after all the losers...increasing friend circle doesnt mean that every tom dick n harry is allowed in right...if u want some more friends i know many despos in iit almost equally qualified to our man...i guess u got my point...
i hope the matter is closed...everyone is entitled to his own opinion..what i think abt u is my choice n you cant do anything about it...
and as for him and me we are no social outcasts, we are living our life to the fullest and with utmost satisfaction...we dont need anyone new to come n start being a pain...

installment two

Which losers? And please, please don't assume I make friends with someone just because they are in IIT. If you've ever read anything I've written you'll know how much I abhore pretensions and bigotry and prejudice. I'm sorry if you've met girls like that, but I'm not one of them. I only make friends with people with whom I have something in common - common past, common interests, common friends....
I would really appreciate you enlightening me about the people you are referring to.
And re: everyone is entitled to his own opinion..what i think abt u is my choice n you cant do anything about it...
That's absolutely true, but I think it's only fair not to prejudge someone you don't know. Don't you? Are you sure you have the whole story right?
Of course, if you'd rather not have any contact with me at all, I can respect that. I don't understand it, but I respect it.
Don't go bitter, and don't be prejudiced against me on the basis of one small incident which you really don't know about. I still have (hopefully) a long life to live, I don't want slander and incorrect gossip about me floating around.
Cheers. All the best.


ok point well taken...i believe you...slander and gossip about you...first of all my blog not that famous secondly no one knows whom i was refering to...other than the person herself :)
even if u befriend someone just because he was from iit we dont care...and as for him he has bigger goals and bigger dreams to achieve than waste time on someone who doesnt even know what she is losing...this is my point of view, he is not putting words in my mouth that of course you can see by my writing style..if he was sitting next to me, the mail would have an altogether different style...
as for you.. wanted to give u some advice but i dont know anything about you to do that so let me keep my mouth shut..
n yes u r not the first one to act like this...me not bitter about anything...i dont even know u to waste even an ounce of energy on you..which like a stupid fool i am doing right now.. :)
n goodbye


and three

i would dearly have loved to continue this conversation to its conclusion until all points had been thrashed out to my satisfaction, but as you so very pointedly said 'goodbye'...
no hard feelings, i hope
and au revoir


ok let me say something...why should it matter to you what a guy who is in iit madras whom you have never seen, never going to meet think about you...dont tell me you run your daily matters according to whims and fancies of others...
those are my opinions because of my experiences ..just got a little mixed up with u n had to face the scorn...
of course no hardfeelings...even if they are should i really care ...even to you should u really care...

You get the picture? Not content to leave well enough alone, I'd continued to bombard him with emails. Explain to me, I'd pleaded. Explain to me how someone so nice can have a friend as horrible as you. Explain to me how someone who sent me virtual hugs and kisses and had said "I love you" within ten minutes of our first chat could accuse me, me, of being the desperate one in the relationship. Explain how you can make blanketr statements about someone you don't know. Explain how you can take such liberties with something as precious to a girl as her reputation.
How stupid was I?
I'd wanted him to eat those words, I'd wanted that slander out of his mind. I'd wanted no one to think of me things that were based on nothing. Dislike me as much as you want, I'd always think. Just do it on my own merit.
I didn't think of it in those terms, naturally. I didn't have the self confidence to put it in those terms either. It's only now that I see that that (so many thats!) was what I was trying to say.
How stupid was I? How cowardly? How timid?
The man had given me enough fodder to rip apart his morals, his ethics and his mental ability. At every step he insulted me, and then defended his thoughts by saying I shouldn't care what a stranger thought of me. He'd shown himself, with every subsequent letter, to be crude and prejudiced and stubborn. Blanket generalizations and unfounded accusations.
And I tried to make excuses for him because I'd liked his friend. The stupidity of a susceptible heart.

I was young and inexperienced and clumsy, but that does not excuse my behaviour. What I realized after five months is that even less does it excuse his.
I was so unwilling to blame the common factor that I wrote him letters as well. These were the kind of letters that make me think "Glenn Close!" Even then I thought it.
There is no excuse for the way I continually abashed myself, put every bit of the blame on my own head. I must have done something to give him the wrong impression. Because I knew nothing, it's what I assumed. For someone who sees sexual harassment in every lone man around, I missed just plain harassment when it was staring me in the face.
Because I liked the boy. Because he was the first person who'd ever thought I was pretty. Who'd spent an hour in a conversation with me about nothing. He was someone who'd made me feel special, and attractive, and fun, and to think it was all a lie was breaking my heart. See, I never wanted a relationship. I never asked for a relationship. I just liked the illusion.
What stopped me, every time, was the thought that I owed the boy. I owed him. For things he showed me. And taught me. And brought to my life. Every time I wrote a post, I'd think, If not for him.

What I know now is that nothing is worth this.

Consider the score settled, love.
Take this, my gratitude.
I wish you joy of your friends. I have mine.



Author's note: As always, after a spewing of bile, I begin to doubt the statements I've made. But then again, this pain is mine; and all I've stated here is the truth. Perhaps I'll remove this sometime. But I did not think it fair that I could get no answers from direct contact, and that's why this is here.
For the clarity, and the explanations. For the closure.
This might be a temporary post.
I hope it is.


Oh, big surprise.
Couldn't do it. Coward.

a little personal. and an overdose.

Well then. I seem to be in a grouchy mood. People are in love, and I am consumed by jealous. The clay has too much water and there's no more clay left, and I have no idea how to fix it. The corrugated sheets are exhasted, and no more forthcoming because no more available. People's flippancy is setting my teeth on edge, and I'm relying too much on the easy conversations. I cannot say no, and I cannot push someone away; nice people are hard to be mean to. Every sneha I know, and I wish there were more to me.
I do not want to be one among many, I discovered. It seems to explain a startlingly large number of my life choices.

overdue angst trip

90! and the nostalgia has me feeling embarrassed and guilty. the night decisions have to be rethought, and the people have to be excused. the sister has to be taken out on a night drive, and the no's have to be said before it's too late. the hugs are awaited. i have a good feeling about this, and the imaginating hasn't changed too much.
leaps and bounds, but is it really true? growing up has advantages. i will miss being the baby. i'd better be able to miss it.
i want it gone.

skinny dipping in the sea. why do they all proposition me?
surprise rhymes. those are the ones i can appreciate.
bucket full of clay.

*sigh*

old people make me cry.

mistake

well. for someone who sets so much store by the truth and straightforward answers, i've been lying a whole awful lot.
all i know is, things were a lot easier back when i was lonely.



i need to be betrayed before i can forget it; and i need to let it go to fix it.
i can't forgive you for what you did. if i did, there would be only pain; and the anger is a much preferred mode of self-destruct. at least you can enjoy the anger.

i wish there weren't such a crying need for the effin walls. you live only once. i wish it didn't even have to be that many.

ice candy

i need to learn night photography. i need to let things happen. i need to tell someone.
i like how it never fails to amaze me that people would chose to be with me. i wonder when it gets exclusive. i wonder when it gets mutual.
i want some songs.

peacocks in the garden

and these sudden surprises do for one what a whole night of analysis fails to do. what need of therapy when you have fans?

three dimensions. my heart anticipates, and precipitates. such promises...

post scripting

and now i remember. the temptation of old habits. the pit of bad practices. the fallibility of humans. the limitations of second chances.
do people deserve second chances? can you forgive someone for something they did? does it matter who it is? are second chances handed out on the basis of affection? is it better to offer them regardless? better to grant perfect strangers the benefit of the doubt? isn't it likely that a wrong path taken once is easier to take the second time?
i can vouch for that from personal experience, after all. giving second chances is hard. looking past past mistakes is hard. forgetting the pain caused before is hard. are there degrees? do we have to make rules for every type of transgression? is it one rule for lying and another for cheating? one rule for your best friend and another for a chance aquaintance? do you go harder or easier on the ones you love? do you forgive more and relax less? do you take every new step as one independent? do you become more wary? is probation more than just an uncomfortable state to be in? *sigh*

and another disturbing morning thought: the over-staying of welcomes. no matter how confident one is of the pleasantness of one's company, there is always a niggling feeling that someone is too polite to tell you to get out of their face, and nothing annoys more than someone who insists on hanging around where they're not wanted.
more personal experience.

makes one wonder. learning in principle means nothing without the experience to back it up. we've forgotten that, i think. we need to be reminded.

deceit and deception

old and almost-forgotten hurts make their presence felt. the bile churns as of old. 16-18-21, a night out with the girls. grandmother's hand clenched on an iron grill. do i care? apparently. why, though? why? i cannot fathom. ah, timing. (7:24 a.m. nefarious child out on her night of debauchery) i can't stop the stupidity. i've forgotten what this post was supposed to be about. i remember it having the pain. and then there's the new pain. and the compliments. compliments are losing their power. am i vain? how stupid, on a scale of one to ten? 16-18-21, a pretty phrase; i'll repeat it till i feel better. driving in the dark. dancing in smoke. i like him. i said it. don't think it's a pass, he said. how we dance, to be sure.
how easy to pretend. why is it? easy to pretend nothing is ever wrong. easy to pretend the things i guess are all active imagination. defense mechanism, coping mechanism, human protective coating. why does she avoid me? and i feel so much and guess so much, and i believe none of it because i may be wrong. but now i think that the reason i don't believe is because i may be right. and when you're right it hurts and hurts. too much pain. i want to be . it would help, i think. so many parts to a person. won't you stop and ask me what's wrong?

nick drake gives me the whim-whams, and kate rusby the breaking insides. i want to be kissed. the butterscotch tuberoses. i am jealous of all the people who have it. i must keep the faith, london bridge. the friends will help. so will family. one less bothers me. i am glad it does. it's just her, just her. i don't want to admit it. why? because it is hard to admit you care. when it's true, it's hard. i wish i hadn't been right. i often wish that. strange, it all seems. clairvoyance, or just plain sensible foresight? my heart squeezed and my lips heavy, heavy.

do i make things happen by believing?

phone temptations

someone please explain to me my need for self destruction. and while you're at it, tell me why i always go one further than needed.
the unavailable, it's always been. never have i thought of one when there was a chance. chances scare me. as do most things in life, apparently. i could see a future with any of them, did you know? all that's needed is a smidgen of imagination. there's something special about each, but it all comes right back to me anyhow - whether it's things we both love, or enjoy, or laugh at. or whether i am the one courted and wooed by one with whom there's nothing in common. confusion is a natural state of mind. and the long nights are helping.

as is fiona.

i think a lot more when i'm working. or supposed to be working. all my best writing has been done when my head and mind and body refused to sit down and complete the load of work looming overhead. and the wildest writing was always for boys. let's face it - the two of them effectively destroyed my concentration. no, wait. let's not blame them, the fault was all mine. the fault has always been mine. and that makes it harder to fix than otherwise. blame and guilt on either side of this equation. radiohead now. sections to do, and a model to complete, and printing to be done as well. and all i can do is think of one and two and three and four. each seems to lead to the other (only that one is always ready to leap out into my head. so is three lately. and i will keep thinking, what does it all mean?), and then comes five. stops there unless i press, and then the whole gamut of them will come thundering into my head and i will think again about how odd the world is, and how wonderful, and why there is no one for me.

possible people

meh. I'm tired of waiting for blogger beta.

for once, i am confident i can finish a substantial chunk of work. it feels good.

in other news, old twinges still surprise me. how long is it going to last? i was thinking. how strange it is that i always end up thinking about certain people whenever i start thinking at all? it isn't voluntary, i don't think. it just seems to happen, an uncontrollable little chain reaction that runs quietly from random thought to person a, to person b and then c and d and all the others in a strangely intricate mental map.
i wanted to make a list.

crossword, coffee, beaches, blog, blog, blog, blog, snob, sellar, digger, rainman, misfit, misfit, toothache. i'm missing too many. are the associations so poor? i will take the risk, then, and name them. doc, vishwa, vin, pa, ma, fu, prof, san, monk, dre, the singhs, the ding, id, sapru, ug, duende. half these people i've not seen in real life. the order is all jumbled up in my head. as are my feelings for all of them. strangely, about the girls as much as the guys. new friends. new friends rearrange perspectives.

i wonder how much of these people i have extrapolated from my own wishes to have them just so, and the need to fit them in my neat little labelled jars. they all make me smile, though, i'll grant that. just for that, the extrapolation should be worth it, surely?
hmmm. the buzz is gone again. not right that i should grant a person that power.

someone's been here who shouldn't. i wonder about that, too.

yellow

fear. it's the feeling where my throat is tight and my chest is tight, and i have to bite my lip to keep from throwing myself off something; where i go around trying not to keep putting my hand up to my mouth because i'm afraid i'll scream; where everything seems so much more so, and me always less.
it's the feeling for the sweepy songs. for the hard hugs. for the rocking. for the walks. for the writing.
it's the feeling i hate right up there with the guilt, probably because they are sister concerns; the feeling i get when there is the word disappointment looming over the horizon.

i don't know what brought it on. there are only two things it could be, and neither makes any sense. it can't be him, there's nothing there, i thought this had been put to rest. and if it's work, i still can't understand it. the time isn't that close, is it? it isn't. i can finish. can't i? can't i?
times like these are when i understand why cowardice is easy.

help help help help help help

The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seem limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your seccret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.

King and heartburn and phone calls. What am I doing with my life?

midnight aches

And it's fifteen minutes past midnight. I've just spent the last eight hours doing nothing. It is a constant source of mild alarm to me how I can sit in front of the computer for half the day; ostensibly working as hard as I can; and end up with a drawing that is only marginally different from the one I made in ten minutes a week ago. Why can't I do anything with a little conviction? Why is design so hard?

The earliest meaning of the word “quick” in English is “alive.”
I guessed it, did you know? Well, I did.

Alright. So.
I will finish my work for Friday.
No excuses, no shirking, no lies.
The power of positive thinking better make itself felt fast.

Oh, help.

what is it?

I feel things changing. I can't tell what, and I'm not worrying, which is new. There is no one I am next to, right now. They are all just the pebbles.
His advice is terrible. Let's be frank. I will not just pick anyone. Someone has to find me. Is waiting really that bad?

I worry again that I will say yes no matter who asks. I worried before. Oh the danger, I said.
That is a mistake. But I fear it's entirely too probable. We will see how well the foreboding forebodes.

not for anyone

Dear heart
It has been oh, so long since I wrote you a letter - one of the good ones, the ones with the little new turns of phrase I love, the ones I spend at least two days writing in my head before I even think of putting the words where I can see them.
I've needed someone to talk to really badly, and much to my chagrin discovered that you were the only one I actually felt comfortable telling. Let's be frank, babe. There's no doubt that the comfort levels are entirely my doing. I would probably feel easy in my mind about writing long personal letters to almost anyone, all I need to do is invest them with some imagined interest in my wellbeing.
I wrote this letter out the whole of today, and as usual, it sounded much much better in my head. Heads are good places to be when you need to feel sorry for yourself. Also when you need some sympathy. My head is my friend.

I wish I could still write you real letters. *sigh* I wish many things, almost all of them pointless and stupid. I just felt a lot better when there was a real person at whom I could ramble.
The fact is that things have changed. They do. People change. Relationships change. It's all a series of meanderings and I need constants somewhere. I think the best way is to continue to write you without expectations of replies, perhaps because I won't ever be sending you any of the letters I write.
Self therapy is all very well, but when you've had a taste of something better, you tend to see what's missing more than what's actually there.

That's the end of this one.
I'll definitely be adding more.
All my love always
T

big fat liar

I don't like lies. Every lie I tell turns into another festering boil that I would fain get rid of, but can't, more's the pity. Parents, teachers, friends, family. Myself. It's incredibly easy to lie. Far too easy. Sometimes I wonder how many people I talk to lie to me, and the answer always seems to be, more than you'll ever know. If it's so easy to lie, isn't it logical to assume that almost everyone does it? But of course. Telling the truth is a chore, and an often painful one into the bargain. What I've tried to do all these years is create a foolproof alibi, one that will stand up purely because it is true; and that is, that I don't lie. To be able to say that, and mean it, is something I've managed almost all my life. And now, suddenly, the little untruths tumble out unheeded, and break into pieces my idea of me. I can't be proud to be someone who has no respect for the truth.
I need to fix this, fast fast fast.

new worries

Alarm bells are ringing again. I'm not surprised, per se; it just seemed a little unexpected. I've never really been wrong. Just premature, sometimes. But then again, there's always the fear that something will come true only because you think it might, true? Hmmm. I think I have been wrong. Rather glaringly. But you learn from mistakes, yes? Do I? Do I learn anything at all? Right now is a huge worry, and I know what it's about. I just don't know what it is. "People happened", I told him. I need to find someone to talk to, really talk to; and really really soon. The holding things in is becoming harder. I've never believed in advice, and now, suddenly I need it, and the belief just came along in the easiest way possible.
In other news, there's the toast. Rhyming is easy when you don't mean what you're saying. That's my bit of wisdom for the ages. In fact I think it deserves a poem. In rhyme. Metered. One that scans.
The comfort went away. I didn't really know it was there. Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps it was discomfort that came along.

And one more thing. The capitalization is here to stay, I think. Could have been worse, certainly.
It always can.


And the therapy goes on. It's characteristic of me that any new love will get drained through in an orgy of addiction till the phase passes, and this time, Pratchett is it. Very emphatically so. I will be reading the rest of them over the next few days. I don't think this is a good thing in any circumstance, and especially not now! I will ride it out much like all the other things. It's the only way.

my mother's daughter

lately i have begun to understand better why i seem not to like the idea of dating. the fact is that my gut knee-jerk reaction to male attention always turns out to be "bugger off, i'm not interested".
the truth is, you never know. you can't know any other human being at all. i've barely begun to know myself, and i try to find a way to slip that in wherever possible in conversations both virtual and not-virtual. perhaps i should have said on-line? so trite, though. eh.
i'm just going to hang around till that big something special happens. faith is just faith, no? and terry makes a whole lot of sense. i find myself nodding along almost all the time. the time i don't spend clutching my stomach from laughing, anyway.
this post is conscious. oh, no :(

with time, perhaps.


as post script:
my mother's daughter

tired

Baby.
I am getting absent-minded again. Mind wanderings and body wanderings. Not good.

polite conversations

Some people I can't feel comfortable with. Lots of people, really; but essentially belonging to a few broad stereotypes. It's been a while since I used that word, incidentally.
I can't be comfortable with people around whom I have to keep a close watch over the things I say - either because they will misunderstand, or malign, or mistake. I hate having to stop before I speak and think before I leap and unmix my metaphors before they fly. And this is why I like people who make things easy. So many things in life are hard already, why make human interaction one of them? Why despise what is easily got? Why believe only in the hard-won? Certainly there is something grander about things you have worked hard to get, but shouldn't you appreciate the things you get easily just as much? Who knows?
Probably I won't. It was just a passing thought, anyway.

many pains

just because you know something doesn't mean your head believes it.
i need something to get my mind off it soon.
soon soon soon.
the stomach clenching is not a happy state to be in, i'm in it far too often for my liking, and i am getting indescribably tired of having to deal all the time.
suddenly standards seem unnecessarily high, and i fear i'll say yes where i shouldn't.
being a human is hard.

dead dogs

strange dream. must have been all the starch. i worry a bit. two hours. mornings are good, pie.
all my loves. why can i not see anything? *sigh*. she avoids me. why does she? or is it just my imagination? essays. peaches. i want to say "i love you" to someone. i can just hear it. i want someone to say it like that to me.

oh, but the pleasure's mine

Mao Tse Tung is like a Morrissey album - cute and full of students.
Now. I have been realizing a few more things of late. Not all are pleasant, but all are interesting. I think I have a rather strong effect on people. Also, apparently, reading the blog means a person gets enough information to push all my buttons, as proved by Vinodhini. Hmmm. I am inclined to be more flattered than otherwise over that particular situation.
Dance is fookin sexy. I will learn. I think I can. Just need a little dedication. Which I will find somehow. Plans must be made.
In other news, two have begun to worry me, one is beginning to put me at ease and one is a jolly joy. Not safe to think of them as pets. All clichés are relevant.

Long morning conversations. Questionable topics. songs, laughter, poetry, sunsets
the way people move and walk and smile and laugh
the sound of voices
dances
I am old. It's a strange set of feelings. Also very very familiar.
Also discovered this:
- Being in charge is a royal pain in the ass
- I miss being in charge
I am a queen bee, I am a drama queen, I am a star. I think I like you, miss.


If I meet myself, I would like to say : Thank you. It was a pleasure to be you.
Because it has been.

stereotypings

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
SHIT.

shit shit shit. I don't wanna be a cliche. Help me, someone?

neglections

it shouldn't be so easy to love people.
it shouldn't be so easy to drive them away.
people suck.
i am an idiot.
i wantahug. gimme.

presentiment

and it's now that i really really need it.
how will i? cannot tell, and cannot think, and it's all so bloody WRONG. I know, in my head, how messy it would have gotten. I know, logically, how unsuited we were. I know, when i think about it, that i did all the right things.
I know this, and still, there is a little part that will revisit the whole bloody thing, over and over all apurpose, just to see if the pain is still around.
and it always is.
with all of them. two of them. only two? only two. actually, just the one. the other has faded. as will this. i want it to, i do. sort of almost not quite. am i so unworthy? must i do this every second day?
here is the big big secret, my dear: i've always known what it was to be in love. what i never knew is what it felt like to be the one on the other side.

mummy

fixes. i hurt. they hurt. we hurt. i fix. they fix.
Conjugations.

i don't know if this is good or bad for me. people get better. so it's good overall. what i want to know is, is this gift or punishment?

hmm. capitals, spellings, grammar. but never the apostrophes. for what is life sans apostrophe?

irresistible me

i've been an "at least" person.
lately i've begun to feel it isn't exactly the best way to go about it.
that's as far as i've gotten.

scratches

Felt sexy today. Ooh, to put that down in cold blood! Why do I not have a person? Rrrawr hiss. Cattish, I've been, certainly. Today was a delicious, in spite of. And because of :D.
The silver lining is being rather forcibly brought to mind, but there is a silver lining nonetheless. Um, the jew is worth it, yes because of :D Ah, I play it deep, deep, my dear! What price love? Not for sale. And a present grawr. no and no and no. Fingers itch.

Who knew I was so desirable? Not I.
The most interesting girl in class, no less; but I take what I want out of it. Growing up, growing old, growing cold? I am still happy, and today I was high high high. All my people. I am wanted and courted and wooed, and in spite of no, I am happy, love.
So precious.

how do you spell irony?

lack of follow-through, and it's my biggest scam till date. not the least because i've fallen for it myself. dishwalla. teachers. promises. integrity. earnestness. shame. shame. shame.

sweetness

i cannot let it go. and it really means nothing. does it? strange offers. and allusions. and intrigue. little hums. and i cannot make up my mind yet. more and more and more, and none perfect. but i never wanted perfection. i just wanted broken that i could fix.
this deserves a pome, i bleeve.

roleplay

here is a surprise.
too many and too diverse and all of it is only reaction to action. for each a role, and all the parts i play sit uncomfortably. if there was really one, just one, one only alone; then i would rest easy.
chameleon.



in silence i am myself.

midget in a beansprout

"The most wasted day is that in which we have not laughed."

again

forgive and forget. of course it was a man said it.
hmmm.
apparently, if the right man asked me, i would say yes. this scares me sometimes.

a weight

death. loss. i used him. and it came naturally. i thought this was over and done with. the shelves want to be dusted. i do not see it.
sleep cycles.

i will attempt

My muse walks slow, steady, pausing between steps to watch the world above and around. He lives in poetry and pineapple days. He wears anything, everything, something; i notice not what he wears. He smells like musk and custard; he sounds like laughter. For fun he will tease, for fun he will muse. He smiles like rainbows.

and do i dare?

1. What does your muse walk like?

2. Where does your muse live?

3. What does your muse wear?

4. What does your muse smell like?

5. What does your muse sound like?

6. What does your muse do for fun?

7. What does your muse like to eat?

8. What does your muse smile like?

thirteen

Advanced Charecterization
Myself
Good points
1 I'm kind-hearted
2 I am sensible and can THINK!
3 Am always on the side of righteousness
4 Am friendly (I hope)
5 I am helpful
Bad points
1 Sarcastic
2 Rude
3 Disobedient (Says Mum)
4 Contrary
5 Concieted

singing good memory progress in tws friends among the boys (don't care what others say) knitting sweeping dance english maths listening skills loyalty trustworthiness spellings
hot temper


my handwriting is better. so is my spelling. and grammar. and punctuation.
poor misspelt number five disappeared somewhere along the way, and my hope is a big hole.
i break my heart.

burn

i could see us. further forward than the others. does it mean it is not me, or that it is? i will wait and watch. a hundred years old and then a baby. as are all of us. we will hope that he will always be fond.

recognition

i am incomparably selfish
i wish i weren't, but it's true; at the end of the day, no one matters more to me than myself. and the happiness of people who make me happy.
i have been wondering. is it not possible that any relationship could work if only both parties are willing and willing to listen? it is surprisingly easy to get someone to behave exactly as you want them to, and easier to behave as someone wants you to. the question is, where is the sacrifice, that's all. and what you think when you say settle.

update

Gentleman, not just boy. this needs a little more thought, but i think i will soon have it. it is a man whom you can sit next to, who may tease you and cajole you and flirt with you, but who will never make that creepy crawly indecent slime slide up your spine. and when it is a boy, there is only joy. mmmuah.
and the ding, and pam. and others forthcoming. i cannot be such a happy person if i have not more than these. :) happy days are picture postcards.

boy

This needs to be addressed and put to bed. What is it about them? And I don't mean males.
I mean boys. Those irresistible creatures who roam in packs and make life a great big game, who are that way no matter what age they are, who make you feel comfortable. Now that's boy.
here are mine: the hijacker, the tamagotchi, the jew, the babe. they are the joys in my day. All the others are only boys in bits. Bee calls them all boys, and they all are, but only at times, and not with every fibre of their being.
Here's the thing. I am about to draw analogies. Fairly unflattering ones even. What happiness.
Think of a dog. Any dog. Every dog is different, no? Every dog has its own little peccadillos and peculiarities, but there is a way to get to almost every one still. And once you find that certain magic spot, or word, or food, you know they are yours for life. Any time. Just push the right buttons. Boys are harder than that, sure, but the principle is almost the same. Every boy has a certain something about him that makes him special. And when you get to that point when he can cry on your shoulder, you know you've done something good with your life.
Is it any wonder at all?

but naturally

Turns out it was true. I can hardly believe it. I fabricate and then it's true. I feel like whoever it was that did that. Alas my lamentable memory.

Here is the thought. We are our true selves not with the people we love, but with the people who love us. It makes sense, no? When you are sure, sure, of someone's love for you, you take them for granted, and that's the one person to whom you will feel free enough to show all parts of you. And all sides of you. Rather cruel, now I come to think of it. (oooh i'm capitalizing automatically. why but?)
Second thought: I now know whom to go to when I want stories and to whom to turn when I want profound thoughts. Unfortunately the one has to be recultivated, but I'm in the process, so yay!
What I need now, is one who will inspire me to write that scintillating piece of writing that will blow everyone away and make my mother happy.

I'm glad that the poetry comes regardless.
And I wish I were more like my mother.

perhaps not

some days end well. like today. a horrid day and happy ending. what did i do to deserve it?

everything ends well, actually. you just need to make sure you call the end at the right place. why is it so hard to believe that i could love the world? love doesn't mean like. just because i love someone to distraction doesn't mean i'll always like them. does it now? well it shouldn't. not for men, anyway.
meanwhile.
the poem is still in place. and that bit of doubt has been reassured. tentatively.
now i worry about my potential and waste, alas!
and what has he discovered? "i don't play games" it sims. he doesn't pay attention to half the things he says, that unintentional hypocrite.
oh i am happy mins happy oh tamagotchi kun.
it is easy to be people. i wish it weren't so gosh-darned hard to be popular.
i am almost only me with him.
almost.
only.
me.
it feels wonderful. tell me why? something there that i just don't see.
i look no gift horses in the mouth, be sure.
megrims away.

am i so unworthy, then?

i wish i had. would i have met better people?
would i have met funner people?
would i have been happier?

i don't want.
i am doubting again.
not fair. not fair. not fair.

*sigh*, meanwhile.

So. I did it again. I didn't have a hope in hell here, so it was a good plan.
"It's not brutality. It's boy, only boy."
Oh, for that you could forgive him anything.
And new ones are always good. Little lilies.

i have a phone

i want to cry



teardropcomepickmeupsideways just because. i want to cry i want to cry i want to cry. how long and i still can't let it go. and i go around and find new ways to torture myself. thank god for the songs oh god. i'm always depressing myself. stupid woman.
i want you to call me up at all times of the day and read me poetry. to think i'm the most wonderful person in the world. to think of me whenever you stop thinking of everything else. to treat me like a princess till the day i die. to cherish me. to love me above all else.
and i wont care if you're old or ugly or bald or short or fat.
and i'll love you only just because you love me.
that's all i'm asking for. nothing and everything.
so simple it sounds. why can't i find anybody, then?

one more thing to blame

i find it increasingly hard to adjust to being stuck in this same mental pasture. i write so much and end up arriving at the exact same points almost every time, albeit by a different route. i seem to enjoy finding new things to point fingers at to explain my condition. i'm afraid again, meanwhile. i don't anticipate much pain this time, but i anticipate all the other things. i suspect the things i think are all wrong. but i think that every time. and when i go back and see the things i've written, i suspect it about the same thoughts, even.
i wish there hadn't been those two letters. now all the thoughts are topsy-turvey.
confusion is less overwhelming for some reason. either it is because i'm maturing or it's because of the heavy heavy lunch.
hmmm.
i feel like jello now.

not enough by far

why do i hate pain so? not mine; mine i can handle. i like being in pain. it keeps me alive. what scares me is the foreshadowing of it. and the pain of people i care about. when they're all achey-breaky hearts and i can't do anything. all my loves, every last one. and all i've had to give are these stupid words.

midnight odd thought

so. here's an odd thought. what if i really am a happy person? what if the real me is that crazy over-the-top super-enthu cutlet? what if it was only those squashings that had me down and glum? what if it's that spicy tamale that i'm rediscovering? what if that's the reason i'm suddenly so comfortable in my skin? what if that's the reason more people like me? what if that's the reason that i like me?
if it is, i'm glad i was down in the middle. downs give ups meaning. within reason.
where is my bee?

tiny vessels caught me

someday i will ask him what it was about her. someday i will ask what it was about me. someday i will find out all the gruesome details. until then there will always be a part of me that flinches.
and that day i will not have them singing at me.
i have to be careful.
in the meantime.
my homie is a babe. so is my babe.
i have to be careful.
*sigh*
boys are painful joys.
i dance. happiness is easy. happiness is not a pleasant feeling. it is a groovy scary scoopy weepy high. why would anyone ever need anything but their own minds to be happy?

why is it easier for me to feel happy after a job well done? why can i not care about the result? why can't i be indifferent, and take the ups as i take the downs? why must failure always be so oppressive and success so uplifting? and why do i hate competition so? because someone always loses. why does it matter to me? why can't i accept that people lose? because i can't. i can't losing is not a good thing. not coming first is alright. but when there are winners, there are losers. LOSERS. ahhhhh. i hate competition. life should all be about the play, where every person is only the sum of their talents and potential and performance, and comparisons are not drawn to find winners and losers. idealism is very amusing from the outside. they are all amused. so am i, sometimes. would i rather not, i wonder. i guess i'm glad i can be both inside and out. perspectives shift, and life is always interesting. what more can i ask for?
love, maybe? but i can live without it.
for now.




and this is the list. am i crazy??
some devil, come pick me up, teardrop, always in my head, tiny vessels, hard time killing floor blues, i know, the scientist, transatlanticism, amy hit the atmosphere, the maker makes.
masochistic, apparently.
damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.
but how beautiful is music, love. yes and yes, always and always. good night and good luck.
yes and yes and yes and yes as many times as i can think it.

adrift

isn't there anybody out there that feels the same way? i can't take it. i feel like something has been irrevocably screwed up in my head. i'd do anything to fix it, but i don't know how and i don't know what. i want to go silent again, just to see if anyone notices. will you miss me? i want you to. he thinks it's childishness, and perhaps it is, but he doesn't understand the first thing about why. how can a person so wise be so stupid? i want you to miss me. i want to know, every day, that you care. i need to feel that somewhere there is a person to whom i mean something. mom says it too, she says, once you know they care, it doesn't matter that they never call. how does it not matter? how? i'm not saying call everyday. i'm not saying call everyone. just a line? just a note? just a ping?
to have all these means of communication and still have them lie empty is one of those cruel jokes that people attribute to that wily ol' lady fate. and a pox on the one i hate it. is it too much to ask to go on as you've begun? apparently it is. i can't understand it, and i can't accept it and i need someone to explain it to me like i was a child. so many friends, and with all of them, the warmth peters out to this lukewarm almost-caring, and i can't handle that nohow contrawise.
i go into everything so passionately, and i want it to always be that way. why can't it?
i need to know.
i'm not averse to change. i'm averse to change without reason. i need motive. i need purpose. i need rules. i need a plan. i feel lost and the words aren't helping. they aren't pretty and they aren't structured and i'm just rambling along. i don't think i will want to come back here to read what i've written, better to let it lie as purged. i will try and get a high from the day. almost it holds promise.
first i teach and then i learn. two of the most wonderful things to do. why can i not feel excited?

no and no and no

i hate feeling lost with no apparent reason. violence is not the answer and cursing helps nobody, but sometimes they help take your mind off things.

i made a mistake with this list. all i want to do right now is sit in a dark corner with my knees under my chin and hug myself. all i want to do right now is rock back and forth saying please no please no please no make it stop. loneliness is not yet a stranger, and she's no longer a friend.
my heart feels big and empty.
i want . you know. it won't solve anything. but it'll help.
out out out.

pain is everybody's. i want mine no more.

discoveries

In other news, turns out I discovered my sexuality somewhere and didn't even realize it. Bummer.
I guess it's what all this new-found confidence and comfort is all about. I'm definitely not that same ol' scaredy cat I was back in school, and nothing has changed anywhere else to suddenly make me more aware of my self-worth. Sure, I got to know my mind, but I don't think that would have been nearly enough.
I don't know if I like the fact that all theories can be turned over just with a little new information.
ehmehbleh
However, glad that the theory of comfort holds good. I like that theory. It's more beautiful than most.

Meanwhile the bee is all crazy with my poorly phrased cyphers. Aiy-yah. Not all of it was the same person, if you're reading this, my babe.
Also thank you for all the new persons. I am far too lucky.

nudge, wink, nod

What is this I'm feeling? And am I seeing hints where there are none? My instincts are usually spot on, baby. What is this all about?
*sigh*
People should not be allowed to hint things where relationships are concerned.
Alison and the tea is where it should stop.

Meanwhile.
I want to study!
I'm so happy, darling.
Thank you to the new one.

hard time killing floor blues

i am a puddle of self awareness.

make it better

I'm down again. I can't seem to go a day. Alright. I'm getting better, I am, really. It just seems as though there is a part of me that enjoys wallowing in the misery, so that, given a chance, I rehash and relive and settle comfortably right back in those dumps. *sigh* Is there no cure?
The only cure lies with myself, and I'm not going to be happy unless I decide I'm happier happy than miserable. But with the bee and the star fuelling my idiotish notions, that ain't likely to happen anytime soon. Oh for burning passion, for searing romance. For messy outsides to match messy insides. Am I to settle for comfortable?

And why do they all talk of "settling" at all? Ai-yah. I need some new rabbits.
Two is OK. Almost OK. It's not very hard to get the reactions you desire. Did you know? The words are apt weapons. yah.
yah yah yah boo to you. I call my frustration anger. What do you call yours?


Oh. Rufus is always a mistake in the morning.
One more smile I fake; try my best to be glad. One more smile does the maker make because he knows I'm sad. Oh, lord, how I know; oh, lord, how I see; that only can the maker make a happy man of me.
I need to be loved. um um um. At this point anything will do. Oh the danger.

guh.

oh baby. what a girl i am.
irony and stereotypes.
:D

p.s. i have nice eyes. and still can't handle a compliment.

bleagh.

nothing takes the shine off a perfect day quite as effectively as unwanted attention from someone you have no interest in.

gimme

make out

and here comes the fall

How can he do this every time?
Every time.

Make me feel small and petty and worthless. Childish. Immature. No one else makes me feel this way. How is this good for me? I'm tired of always thinking of ways to defend my actions. I'm tired of discovering that I have no depth. I'm tired of being told I'm nowhere close to as grown up as I thought.
I'm tired of every explanation I try to find being viewed as an excuse.

And where do I go from here, love? He doesn't see me. He doesn't know me. What made me think he did? What made me think all the things he said were true just because he was right some of the time? I've been wrong before. Nobody's perfect.
And he won't see.
He won't see.
He stopped listening. I don't know when, and I don't know how long I've been pretending he hadn't. He's got me confused in his head with someone else. I don't know who it is. I'm not that person, and I refuse to be that person.

I'm exasperated. I used to think that was experated till I read it aloud for the first time. Class Five. Kim. Kipling.
Who will listen?

Yesterday I decided words weren't enough. Well guess what. For me, they are.
Fuck the fucking chinese fucking walls.
Hm. I got mad. Why'd I get mad? Mood music, I think. I don't want to be mad. Anger solves nothing. If I should be angry at anything it's me. I hate that every letter ends with me writing something to make him feel better. I hate that everything I write to him is about making this relationship easy. I hate how easy it is to lie to the people you say you love. I hate that I still can't tell what love is. I hate how every time I think of him I think something different. I hate how he takes everything I tell him at face value, but how much more would I hate it if he doubted what I said. I hate how I try to package and label all the things I feel about him. I hate how I know I can never tell him any of this because I want to be comfortable. I hate how I know this is going to end. I hate that I know it will all be my fault. I hate how much I see and how little I use. I hate that I was happy this morning and I'm messed up again. I hate that I spend all this time thinking about him when there's absolutely nothing I'm gaining from it at all. I hate that he'll still always be my muse and that all I need to get the words flowing is to think I'm writing him a letter. I hate that I might be able to do that without ever dropping him a single line. I hate that I no longer need his letters. I hate that I've started thinking of him exactly the way I thought of the other. I hate that he always finds the chinks in my armour and the flaws in my reasoning. I hate that I don't know whether I want to be right for the right reasons. I hate that I can't tell what's going on inside my own bloody head. I hate that everything about me is a lie. I hate that everything about me is an act. I hate how I can use words to make everything fine without solving any of my problems. I hate how easily I use the word addiction and still truly believe I mean it. I hate how I can no longer tell what I truly believe and what I've convinced myself I believe. I hate that nothing I convince myself about regarding him stays for more than a day. I hate how my dreams are no longer distinguishable from reality. I hate how I can't tell people what I want. I hate how I can't tell the difference between an excuse and an explanation. I hate that I don't know how to stop making excuses. I hate that so many words aren't defined. I hate that I can't tell what's true and what's not. I hate how I will never gain the guts to tell him any of this. I hate that I'm thinking that all of this is just me being poetic. I hate that I don't know whether I mean anything I'm writing now. I hate that I can convince myself of anything. I hate that I always fall for it. I hate that the simple things make me happy but a boy can still turn everything on its head. I hate that I don't ever know how to make people go away when I don't like them but I always manage to get rid of the ones I'm afraid to need. I hate how I always want the most painless way out of everything. I hate that I'm not afraid of hard work, but I still cannot apply that to relationships with people. I hate the way he said "when did vin and I become people". I hate that he will always make me feel that I will never be the person he wishes I would be. I hate that he loves me and still causes only heartache. I hate that brothers can love you to distraction and still only understand that part of you that they see themselves in. I hate that it takes me so long to think of anything. I hate being so wise in the head and so abysmally clueless everywhere else. I hate that I don't know how I feel about anyone. I hate that I keep thinking the only reason I can say I love them is because they love me. I hate that I know so much in theory and yet nothing in practice. I hate that I still love me. I hate that I can anticipate change and still never reconcile myself to it. I hate that I haven't figured out the world. I hate that that bothers me. I hate that I have no ambition. I hate how every thought of him leads right back to me. I hate how every second thought leads right to him. I hate how I can convince myself of something and then fall in the same traps every time. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that the ones who love me will always offer things I can't use to make me all I want to be. I hate that I can be content sometimes. I hate that I love to self-destruct. I hate that my instincts don't prevent me from doing the wrong things. I hate that right now I'm thinking that I can't ever avert any of the messes I see coming a mile away.
More mood music.

I hate that I decided words weren't enough and then went ahead and used them to fix myself for this moment anyway.

And because I must always end high and poignant and poetic. And because she always makes it better. And because she is right now.
My song.

I would rather a bad day that ends well than a great day that ends badly.

so high

So here's a random thought.
I've been getting comfortable in myself, and suddenly, the more I get along with me, the more I get along with others. The nicest people are the ones who are so happy being themselves that they just make you feel the world is a good place to be in. Am I a nice person? The answer is almost yes. I like spending time with me. I like the things I think. I love how I love everything and everyone and the whole bloody world every morning. I exasperate me.
I love me.
Hurrah.

layers

I found out last monday how little I've changed since I was thirteen. And how much. Eight years, oh boy. I wonder if it's the same for everyone? I still think the same things, I still believe in the same things. I still want the same things. All I've done is prune. I got mellow; I had the rough edges sanded off me; and I discovered I had a smile. I learned to accept myself for who I was, importantly. The thought strikes me now, suddenly. What if that's a step backwards? Once you're happy with whomever you are, does that mean you grow more resistant to change? I think not. I have such fascinating conversations with myself. I am the absolute best listener I know. To resume, (and i've decided on no para breaks for this one. just to see) I am me. The same as I always was. It's more than a little creepy. What I love is how much I've learnt in life, and how that has refined me. There is nothing about myself that I have changed. I got more tolerant. More observant. Less explosive. Less volatile. But the core of me is the same the same the same.

The biggest step I've taken is probably meeting myself. Getting to know me. I am a fabulous person. Oh, flawed for sure. But I am a person I could love. I am comfortable in my skin and self confident and self assured. Almost.

song for the day. just because i'm listening to it right now. and because nothing fits as well.

anna begins

A hundred and thirty two times I have written and posted. Poems and rants and rambles, pictures and stories and narratives. I love this. I love this freedom. I love the power. I love the control. I love the words.

I went back to theater recently. It is going to be just a short fling, for old times' sake; old love, mad love, hard love. Familiarity is a wonderful old shoe. I am an actress. I am a ham. I am a performer. What is the most derogatory way you can say it?

It was surreal, how easily it all came back. How it all made sense. How it made you want to tear out your hair at the roots and run around wherever you were, screaming I want to be real! I want to be real!

It's a fine line, the one I seem to have drawn for myself. On the one side there is that intense desire to know self, true self, real self; and on the other is a desire for that perfect flawless façade. Lord knows I would like to know which one I would prefer, really, in those fabled recesses of my heart and mind. As with all really selfish people, I want it all. I want to eat my cake, and I want to have it too (it always made more sense that way, like socks-n-shoes instead of shoes-n-socks, nit-pick nit-pick i wouldn't change that one for anything in the world). I want to know, just for myself, who I really am. And I want to know how to be the person I want to be seen as, for everyone else. Everyone's happy, yes? Only no. Where's the line between reality and fantasy then? Already it blurs, already my imagination gets me into trouble that I can't get out of without pain and heartbreak. Already I retreat into a wonderful painless perfect world of my own creation whenever anything goes wrong. And it’s getting worse. The world I’m creating fits on all points with the one I inhabit in my waking dream more and more, and that’s the danger zone.

hmmhmmhmmhmmm.

Let me go. The imagination is not a dog on a leash or a bird in a cage. This mess I have to accept as part of who I am. I am not changing it. Yes, stubborn I am. Yes yes yes resistant to change, wise man. In this instance, though, I will fight you to the death to defend my right to insanity.

how to save a life

There's so much I want to tell them, both of them and each of them. But as always, I worry that whatever I think today won't be what I think tomorrow. That is the biggest reason I don't talk about my feelings about people. I never know how I will feel about someone the next day. I seem to treat all people the same. Exactly the same. That is morbid.

I can safely say I love them. I can say that, can't I?
I'm not ashamed to say it, am I?
No, on the whole, I think not. I love them. I want them to know that, too. That's a step in the right direction. The willingness to give someone my heart.

It is excruciating to see how slowly I grow up. It is also frustrating at how easily I'm swayed by an idea. Someone says this is how you are, and immediately, I see their point, and I agree; and then I take a minute to analyze, and I find a million points on which they missed the point, and a million things about me they don't know that would change their judgement. That's why I reserve judgement always. I can't make up my mind if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Is it good to always want to understand everyone's motives for everything? I don't mean second guessing them, I only mean understanding the underlying motive. Finding out what makes a person tick. How their mind works. Who they are.

And then there's my goddamn ego. The more a person thinks of me, the more I think of them. I realized when I first discovered this tendency that it sounds suspiciously like Atlas Shrugged, but it wasn't intentional, oh god I hope not.

Here is the situation, then.
Someone
tells me nice things about me
and I promptly fall in love with them
and I anticipate painful endings
and when the ending gets there I congratulate myself that at least, oh at least, I didn't get as hurt as I could have
that is pretty much the general scenario

A pretty picture, that. Now, whenever I meet anyone new, male or female, I wait to see what they think of me, and I cover all bases to make sure they think I think less of them than I do, just so that I have an ace up my sleeve. It would be better if I knew what exactly I thought of people. Wait, scratch that. What I feel for people. Because in my most honest moments, I have to admit that I love almost everyone I know. And I love nobody. And if everyone I cared about were to suddenly to drop stone cold dead, I wouldn't mourn them very long in my secret heart. There is no one indispensable to my life. Not even her, though she comes oh, close so close, closer than he did even.

So here's what I think. I think there is a plan. I think I'm changing. Slowly slowly oh very very slowly, but it's happening. It is.
So I will wait it out.

I wonder why people don't realize how much it takes to make a person. Well, maybe they do realize it, maybe they're just not really listening. Empathy empathy. I should be on the stage.