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We are on a break

They all came and left in the same vein. I waited.

I don’t blame them, they had their reasons. Except, the problem with me is that everything affects me much more than the other person.
The problem with every other person is that they are as selfish as they should be.

I am really drained out. And unwilling to give anyone a chance, even this blog.

It maybe a week, it maybe a year. I might just come back tomorrow telling my stories. I might just wait for a year to collect enough mishaps

Until the time, I am ready again, this blog is going dark.

We are, really emotionally drained out.

This post is just a placeholder to remind us how it feels to be squeezed out like a sponge.

It’s always the whisky that talks. I mean I talk too, but whisky, mostly, inspires much articulate shit from someone who has a facade. Wish I didn’t need to describe under the influence of alcohol.

And yet, today is the kind of day when I am not afraid of my truths anymore. Ask me  anything, and I should be able to tell you with a straight face.

Beginning of the end.

Conversation#3779

I saw this guy (kid?) negotiating with the lady at 7-11. I missed the first part of the conversation, but from the looks of it, she was refusing to sell him beer.

She asks him for the ID.

He brandishes his school ID in front of her– “May 1992″, Now it’s July, I *am* 18.

Phase-book

Mockingword, your rankings have been changed.

Changes in your ranks:

#3 best scientist (gained 1 place)
#4 best friend (lost 2 places)
#4 happiest (gained 1 place)
#4 most confident (lost 1 place)
#2 most studious (gained 1 place)

And then the piece of cake:

How others compared you recently:
• “Who can drink more“, you won 2 and lost 0 times.

Perspective.

What do you see?

What do you see?

¡Que Guapo!

Retro, i see a cute football player, I have the hots for Cesc Fabregas. You only see the Arsenal shirt, don’t you?

At least give it to me, I find cute football players in the RIGHT team.

Torres was also being considered.

Fernando Torres.

Fernando Torres.

Trust.

Edited to add: It’s not an order, or a wish. Just an incentive.

I was rotting at work, so I called one of my colleagues out for a coffee. It’s besides the fact that we landed up having a glass of wine each.

And he told me, he had to explain to other people, where I had vanished for three weeks. Since I am on talking terms with him, they asked him instead of asking PD. He re-asked them, “What if she had gone on work for three months?”. “But that’s different”, they replied in unison. As if going on work prevents automatically prevents you from having sex with strangers.

“They are nice people”, he tried to sum up. “I really don’t care”, I drew my own conclusions.

Wish he hadn’t told me. I feel more like a martyr. I feel the pride of a non-conformist. And the last thing I need is a complex and more importantly, a fake sense of greatness. I am fine, I did nothing new. Big fuckin’ deal. I would mess with their minds even more, given the chance. Big deal, really. (Though I feel great!)

Let’s keep it at that.

Yesterday, I was the life force. I had my “trainspotting” style post ready. I felt like i was ready to take on the world.

And then I spent too much time thinking. And I cant seem to remember what was the exact chain of thought that triggered the meltdown. Yes, yet another meltdown — the third in the past few weeks.
I really shouldn’t be left alone. And I can’t believe I am saying it…

So I am all medicated up. Little pink pills. Zen-like calm. Surprisingly easy. Unsurprisingly pretty.
And have set an appointment with the counsellor. A conversation rife with trite sentimentality at 100 bucks an hour.
I love repeating that to myself “trite sentimentality”. Would sum up everything I have ever uttered on this blog or otherwise.

Whatever. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I’d chime in “Haven’t you people ever heard of closing the god damn door?!”
It’s much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.

Dots and dashes.

Dear JT,

Oftentimes we willingly let a lot slip away from between our fingers. You know when we are in that perfection of moment, and we take it for granted, not knowing that in a split-second all this would just be nostalgia. And much later, when we try to run through the events in our minds, and find blank spots in our now sobered-up memory, we think if we could go back in time, we would look at that missed detail, and not make the mistake for taking it for granted. But then again, if we are too busy collecting nostalgia, the beauty of the moment would pass us by. Like Japanese tourists, who never figure what they saw on their vacation till they go back home and pop the disc into the tray.

In a similar vein, when you have little disagreements with people, and you let it stay, because in that moment we carry the weight of our egos and don’t compromise. Much later, when the whole thing has snowballed, we regret not having fixed it.

As much as I collect nostalgia into albums that let you slip-in, I collect future regrets too.

Big fucking deal.

So yeah, with my repertoire of random experiences, I see it slip away. I see it not being the same. What you assume is just another one of our petty squabbles, will change a lot of things.

And strangely enough, I don’t mourn. I should I think. I will, I think, when it finally hits me. Somewhat. Because you are important. But what is more important to me now is for me to have a sense of being. To believe in what I am capable of, not be afraid, be confident of choices, and more importantly not look for legitimacy elsewhere.

Maybe it will fix itself, maybe we will go back to being the same. Maybe I will remember everylittledetail of everylittleexperience I am dying to share and tell you when we meet.

Until then this will remain a symbolic parting of ways.

Yours truly.

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