Waking Up

Dear Blog,

How have you been? I probably don’t deserve a second chance. But something tells me I will still get it. I changed my name. But I still couldn’t get yours out of my mind. I won’t ask for forgiveness; yet. At least not in words. They would seem hollow and empty. But I am here to stay. I will lay myself bare; once again; one layer at a time. Painfully.

May be then you would understand. And then may be someday you would manage to convince the world.

Yours,
Ever Incoherent,
Oxyscapist

The Final Act

Dear WordPress

I realize, and I hope you do too, that this is not working out.  I never have enough things to say to you. Conversation is halting and awkward at best.

I have a confession to make, all those late night office meetings were a lie. I had been cheating on you; sometimes with her:  https://twitter.com/#!/oxyscapist.

And today, I am here probably for the last time. I am leaving.  I want you to know that you were special, you still are.  I don’t think I would let anyone fuck-up my head like you did. I have lost count of the times you brought a smile to my face. Or the times when you pacified my rants without a question. And I know my secrets would be safe with you, forever.

I will be shacking up with her for a while: http://needamuse.tumblr.com/ , maybe.  I have given her your name. Yes, it would always be YOUR name.  Try to forgive me, I never knew it would come to this.

With Love

z3phyr

Monday Mindfuck !

A righteous anger, driven by acute embarrasment, creates a near perfect antiseptic.

The End

Her eyes were red & swollen. An angry welt circled the ring finger. A photo lay on the floor; torn in half. Doctor said it was heart failure.

Enjoy

‘Enjoy’. A simple word.

This idea of perfection, happiness, contentment and other such things that we form in our mind is often quite counterproductive.

The entire spiel of single-minded-devotion-towards-what-you-want-to-achieve is overrated, terribly. You tend to bypass a major chunk of your life, forgetting to have fun, in the quest of your one dream (i am  talking only about those one-day-i-will-do-this dreams). You decide to do away with the carrot you have , in order to get busy  chasing that alluring, much bigger carrot dangling in front of your nose.  And more often than not, even when you manage to bite the carrot, it is either quite bland, or you realize that shockingly enough, you are now incapable of  running without a carrot in front of you. And then you look for more carrots to dangle in front of you nose… you get it, right? My point is that either way you just forget to ‘ENJOY’.

I would much rather prefer to take that proverbial lemonade than wait for the not-so-proverbial-but-very-tasty chocolate shake. Which by the way, will take some time to make. Possibly, a long time. It might not get made at all.

I read this somewhere, and it sums up everything that i want to say perfectly:  Deferring your happiness to the future is a terrible idea

PS Of course, this is not meant for people who don’t agree with this.

In Other News

Me being Y back then is the the reason X is what it is today. Me being P back then is the reason Q is what it is today.  Y wanting to be P is the reason I am what I am right now, at this second.

Okay now that the inscrutable algebra lesson is over and I have safely taken out of my system the  insufferable urge to crap all over the place, I shall retire, or may be not.

Also, I realized today that I can, with fair accuracy, compare my brain to the knowledge repository of consulting firms. Seems like I have already committed all possible fuck-ups, and I keep revisiting my old fuck-ups to find the one matching my current predicament and getting out of it unscathed, okay maybe not unscathed, but still.

Also, a pretty detailed, albeit obfuscated, account of my life in my blog has helped in an organized documentation of my travails. I feel omniscient.

Little Joys

Yayy !

My First Twitter Fiction published at One Forty Fiction🙂

Crib.

So a lot of people seem to have a lack of hand-eye coordination. I seem to be lacking severely in heart-mind coordination. But then the more mature ones would try to edify that such is the case with so many lesser mortals, why is this moron cribbing. To them I say Fuck You, this is my blog.  This is where I cry! This-is-where-yoouuu-diiee. Err, or something like that.

I have a love-hate relation with sanity. The more it tries to love me, the more I hate it.

To further illustrate my heart-mind coordination deficiency, consider this; I have about 8 hours worth of work to do before tomorrow morning 10 ‘o’ clock. So that leaves me with about 6 hours to sleep, eat, shit and do other general stuff, and ZERO time for blogging. This is,  if I work for straight 8 hours till 4 in the morning. My brain understands this, ponders over the herculean task ahead and politely albeit firmly, asks me to start working.

Now here is the beauty of heart, it gives a compelling argument appealing to my vanity and tells me how I can heroically finish off the work in a mere 4 hour stretch if I seriously get to it.  And how this atrocious work regimen demands an explosion of sarcasm filled blog post. And I give in. After all who doesn’t fall prey to the romanticism of heroics against adversity.

PS I am so looking forward to that Leh trip.

Love

She cooed, unaware of his guilt. He fretted over how to tell her. He didn’t need to. She read his eyes, smiled and offered the cookie.

Sigh.

Oh there are so many things I wish I could write here. But then that would make me look weak, naïve, foolish, suicidal and perhaps too emotional for my comfort.

It might also paint me as a diabolical maniac, a callous bastard, a pervert, a schizophrenic and an in general mentally unstable being; also something which I wouldn’t want.

It probably would expose me to the world, force me to stare at my insecurities and remind me of all what I have lost; not a pleasant possibility by any stretch of imagination.

Scariest thing of all, it would let people know what I think about them. What I think about myself. Not pretty, trust me. So I persist, trudging on, carrying the burden of my guilt.

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