Thanatology

That's the word for the day at M-W.
thanatology • \than-uh-TAH-luh-jee\ • noun : the description or study of the phenomena of death and of psychological mechanisms for coping with them.

So apt. Something in me seems to be dying. I need a thanatologist.

Week of sporting action - Tennis, cricket and football.
Tennis - I think Federer will win - on the outside, maybe Hewitt.

Cricket - Rules have changed. Am sure it'll make the game more exciting. Despite all this can Australia be beaten? That's a tough ask.

Football - Brazil vs. Argentina in the Confederation Cup finals. Being partisan, illogical, emotional, I'd root for Brazil despite everything and anything. Argentian might however just pull the rug. How to keep awake till 12.00 am and beyond just to see this match? Sigh!

Ok. All this is bull crap. I'm just filling the spaces. Trying to fool myself. I will not get onto this blog again for a while. At one point in time, roughly a month ago, I said I won't return. I did. Because someone I care about said I should continue. But I don't feel I can blog anymore. I feel a strange sense of ennui.

I don't know and I wish and I want and I'm unsure and I'm confused and I'm afraid and I'm weak and I'm hurt and I'm greedy and I'm silly and I'm ugly and I'm uncool and I'm just a little girl with a simple heart and I'm well....I'm human.

Right. No more lyrics. No more prose. No more sighs. No more cries. No more angst. No more nothing. This is it. For a long long time.

Dear Dee,
Dee! I've no clue when and I've no clue how but you've got into my bloodstream like an intoxicant. It's addictive. And I've got to break the habit before the habit breaks me. I care for you. And I can't for the life of me understand how you haven't figured it out. I guess you are in the throes of your own grief. However, someday if you ever read this and if this blog still exists, you'll know. Unless of course in an apopleptic fit of rage and anguish I destroy all my random thoughts, musings, natter, banter and bullshit that serves no higher purpose.

But dee, if ever you read this, ever, it'd be nice if you let me know that you did and that you don't understand why, and how and all that shebang. It'll kill me, but then like I said earlier, just have a thanatologist at hand...:). And if you think that we could be friends for ever, there's nothing I'd like more than that. Nothing at all. I gave up having any expectations and believe you me it wasn't easy.

But you live, you learn. I'm dying everyday, and I'm surviving and learning.

Here's looking at you kid.

Some weirdo who likes you so much it hurts.

R

If I've decided that I'm going to live only 4 more years then I'd need to live each day as the last day of my life. Which means I need to tell all the people I've hurt involuntarily that 'hey, I'm sorry' and I need to tell all the people I care about that 'hey, I care for you'.

When I die what will happen to my blog? My diary? My books? My music? I'll have to make a will. I don't have anything else to bequeath. I'll take my pain with me.

Even this thought isn't enough to give me courage. To tell a very special person I care. Because it's not meant to be. And his answer will kill me.

(And to think the pain reared its ugly head when I shared my excitement of getting Romance in my life! And to think that he still can't figure out!).

Screamed. S-C-R-E-A-M-E-D! Yes! That's what I did. In the confines of my car. Just me and my scream. So loud. So guttural. I wanted all the hurt and pain of the last few days to be out and dissipate in the ether.

I feel I'm walking in and out of the House of Pain, located on Grief Street, with a sign that says, 'Love doesn't reside here'. It never did. Not for me. Ever.

I want to... I want to so many things dammit. Dammit! Dammmmmmmit! DAMMMMMMMIT!!!

I said I wouldn't mope. I want to move on. I feel like Johnnie Walker's tag-line - Keep walking. HAAA! HAAA! I've been walking for a while now. No! Mister God doesn't love me. He doesn't listen. He doesn't care. He's too busy dispensing a salve to all the really needy.

The thought of going to office terrifies me.

Not a peaceful easy feeling. Why?

Am not at work. Am at home. The breeze is breezy. Naughty. The curtains of my balcony door have been swung up and away like a girl in a man's arm doing the tango or the jive. It's sunny outside. Breezy inside. But how am I feeling?

Saw the last few minutes of Jerry McGuire. I remembered the scene in the elevator - 'you complete me' - or Renee's lines when she says, 'you had me at hello'.

So am finally off to Kabini on the 9th and 10th of July. Will be driving such a long distance after a long time. Looking forward to it. The wonderful lady at the Jungle Lodges booking office called me a 'tigress'. I wanted to look all 'hot' and sensual and had the crazy desire to do a pole dance to prove the title was not misplaced. Amith and I laughed. Sometimes people unwittingly cause us so much fun. Or pain.

Brazil is in the finals of the Confederation Cup. Meets Argentina. Sigh of relief! But the article in the TOI a couple of weeks ago on Brazil's style of play rang true. The samba men have become robotic and do look like any other European team. Why why why dammit!

I loved the short article on Francesco de Goya's painting in 2 halves of a nobleman displayed at the Prado museum in Spain. Artistic temperaments are hard to define, or curb. In fact should never be. Art I think is born of a disturbed mind. Normalcy probably gives birth to mediocrity. Something I need to explore. I hope I write my book now ha ha! I've never been more uneasy in the mind than now.

And I agree with Jug Suraiya's observation that people have this erroneous notion that those who write can perforce speak well too. In fact I've been thinking about it for a while now. I never seem to have the facility with words when I open my oral orifice to speak. My vocabulary seems to take a walk down the aisle of absentia and I'm always left with the feeling that I speak awfully. I wonder why that is.

Have been overeating. I think it's to keep from feeling depressed. I promised Shama that I won't mope. It requires tremendous will power.

I heard some song over the weekend called 'Bittersweet Symphony' by Oasis. Something in the lyrics caught my attention - 'I'm a million different people from one day to the next'. I haven't heard all my MP3s completely...sometimes it's a pleasant surprise. Lyricsfreak.com doesn't have the lyrics - isn't it by Oasis? Google to the rescue...wait! wait! wait!....Verve..some group called Verve! Okay, back to lyricsfreak.com....let's see what it throws up...hmmm! This line also seems approrpiate , 'I need to hear some sounds that recognise the pain in me, yeah.From one day to the next...'....yup! reflects the state of mind. Mine.

Restless. Uneasy. I need to dig deep for reserves of strength. My eyes mist over...

I cried. Uncontrollably. What's astonishing is that I cried at a public place like Koshy's. Thankfully everyone there is so into their own world, that no one really gives a damn! So I cried. I guess the pain of wanting, the pain of not getting, the burden of pain and the pain of not revealing got to me. I cry. Very often. But like this?

I deleted a post. First time. Because I became uncomfortable calling someone names. For no fault of his. Fits of anger need to be controlled. There needs to be more application of thought sometimes to the words I dish out. Anger gave me false bravado. Anger's dissipated. In its place? Only tears. Of hopelessness.

Sanity and lucidity make their presence felt like seasons.

Wherever you go, always take the weather with you. I wish I was the weather and I could be part of someone's life for ever.

When life throws you a lemon...

...make lemonade. Sound advice?
What if one drops the catch?

Responses:
Sunil - He calls - miss his call (just caught him on chat) - Crush the lemon with the heel. Phew!
Arun - Try and learn to catch the next one.
Amith - Awaited

Do I always talk in cryptic crossword clues? Someone once asked me.

While driving home from work, or sometimes to work, the mind is racing at the speed of light and sound (is thought faster than light and sound?) and throws up funny questions. I like to pose this to friends.

Checked out Economist's Style Guide - loved it. Are they cool or are they cool? Lots to learn.

Edgar Allan Poe, Earl Stanely Gardner, Paul Davies, Roald Dahl, Isaac Asimov, Douglas Adams and and and and and....Googled it...Arthur C Clarke! All this and more munched over masala puri and tea at the IIM tea stall. Pawan's cool - very lovely kid. Must remember to tell him - it's Arthur C Clarke man...(have already told him he's a swell chap).

Whammm! Thudddd! Head snaps back. Blond hair flying over a battered nose and face. Bloody. All in a split second.
Bleached, blurred frame. Fast cut to the regular tones. Camera pans on a bearded, far away, slightly remorseful face - 'How I loved her', he intones.
The above scene makes you wonder about relationships - why women take the battering, why men batter. Yet, nauseatingly they stay bonded by threads of abuse, use, and love(??). So disconcerting and disturbing. So real.

Scene from CSI on AXN. I love the serial for the way it is handled. Slick. Contemporary. Very scientific.

Wikipedia is nice isn't it?

Someone told me that 'Google' is going to crash. Its market cap is more than Boeing apparently. Whoa! Imagine a search engine company whose market value is > a company that makes planes. Logical? Logic's sometimes illogical. Always knew America was a loony nation. This proves it.

Googling for speed of thought threw up this interesting article on brain implants. Science is truly remarkable. It makes life even more complicated by trying to simplify things, sometimes.

However what I would mourn is the death of the postman. At the hands of science and technology. Our kids (I of course won't have any, considering the way my biological clock is ticking away furiously), won't know the pleasure of receiving mail. No one would know how to write letters! Sigh!

Have to catch CSI - NY.

Please.

Tough. Uneasy.

Disturbed.

Tell him?

Then what?

Hell and damnation!

More on my other blog...

The upper when you're down

Everyone needs something to get them out of the mire of depression, rejection, disappointment, grief, pain, death and the jaw grabbing emotions of everyday life.

For me it is books. It dawned on me that I'm drawn to books like fireflies to light. I like the smell of books. I like to buy books by authors I've heard about and oft times I've bought books because I liked the synopsis.

Tuesdays with Morrie is one such. I had no clue it was such a bestseller. Picked it up at the Strand sale. Now it's everywhere.

Five people you meet in Heaven is another such. Same author different book.

I bought books today. Lots of them. Bus 9 to Paradise sounds really interesting. Thank you Irfan for recommending the author. Waiting to get between the covers...:). Guns, Germs and Steel - the title fascinated me and Bunty mentioned that it was quite interesting. If I'd shown even a remote interest in it, Bunty would've promptly added it to the list of books 'to be presented to R'. So I bought it today.

Last night after a girls' night out with boss and team mate, I thought I sent an interesting message to friends. Here's what it said 'High on vodka, low on life. What's the moral of the story? Best answer to get a prize.' Received 2 interesting answers: 1) Vodka is closer to Nirvana since it's higher 2) Black Russian.

On Language:
There are 2 words that I've been thinking of -
Conscience
Conscious

They're related yet mean different.
M-W's definitions state:
Conscience - " the sense or consciousness of the moral goodness or blameworthiness of one's own conduct, intentions, or character together with a feeling of obligation to do right or be good."

Conscious - "(1) perceiving, apprehending, or noticing with a degree of controlled thought or observation (2) personally felt (4 ) capable of or marked by thought, will, design, or perception."

From the above it seems that the conscious is responsible for a conscience. But 'the sense or consciousness of....' definition implies that you need to have a conscience to feel conscious of...hmm! Interesting.

Something else that struck me - the noun form for 'deduce' and 'deduct' is 'deduction'. Similarly for 'induce' and 'induct' - 'induction' is the noun. English is truly, a remarkably obfuscating and sometimes illogical language, forever inducing one to explore its myriad depths and allowing one to deduce one's own conclusions to be inducted in spoken language at leisure.

I'm glad that I have been able to write about something other than my lack of sleep. I have been thinking, of course, of the events of the past 3 days and time and again it leaves me with questions, the answers to which I am powerless to unearth. I think sometimes questions need remain unanswered and therein lies my peace. Irksome. (Oh! I love irony or is it an oxymoron?).

Interesting comments:
Leo Buscaglia's Prologue to Bus 9 has this very interesting comment - 'It's obvious that if there were to be an actual earthly paradise it would be a very personal creation.' 'Life is paradise for those who love many things with a passion'. Yes!

Ogden Nash's pithy comment in verse may be terse but so complete - 'Purity. Is Obscurity.'

Aldous Huxley in his preface to Brave New World - 'Chronic remorse, as all the moralists are agreed, is a most undesirable sentiment.' He continues, 'rolling in the muck is not the best way of getting clean.'

Prologue and preface - same thing, different texture. Ah words!

From thoughts to books:
Another interesting book I've bought is John Irving's The World According to Garp. I'd heard of it eons agon, but amidst the Milky Way of Books, it got lost in the cosmic bubble of memory. I'm glad I bought it.

Oh I so wanted to purchase Jostein Gaarder's The Orange Girl - but I found the price of the book not in keeping with its size....:)...since when have books been priced so?...Well...if I live to see another day, I will buy it. I loved his previous work...an anthology of philosophy...sorry, that would be gross injustice,more a history of philosophy. Must read it again.

Irfan's left the country. I hope he has a good life. And I hope he continues to write. His short story was very very good. Sometimes I want the talent and the mind of all those people who write well so that I can be the greatest author, a writer par excellence, a legend. Well, well, well...desires know no bounds, loving to roam unfettered, weaving dreams never to be fulfilled.

I remember a song 'Gin Soaked Boy' - why? because its lyrics are something about the gin in the gin-soaked boy. Last night I was soaked in the vodka of pain. Lyricsfreak.com tells me the Gin Soaked Boy is by some group called Divine Comedy. Whoa! Brilliant lyrics...must listen to it all over again..should rummage through my MP3s...and listen to it more carefully...check this out:
I’m the darkness in the light
I’m the leftness in the right
I’m the rightness in the wrong
I’m the shortness in the long
I’m the goodness in the bad
I’m the saneness in the mad
I’m the sadness in the joy
I’m the gin in the gin-soaked boy

I’m the ghost in the machine
I’m the genius in the gene
I’m the beauty in the beast
I’m the sunset in the east
I’m the ruby in the dust
I’m the trust in the mistrust
I’m the trojan horse in troy
I’m the gin in the gin-soaked boy

I’m the tiger’s empty cage
I’m the mystery’s final page
I’m the stranger’s lonely glance
I’m the hero’s only chance
I’m the undiscovered land
I’m the single grain of sand
I’m the christmas morning toy
I’m the gin in the gin-soaked boy

I’m the world you’ll never see
I’m the slave you’ll never free
I’m the truth you’ll never know
I’m the place you’ll never go
I’m the sound you’ll never hear
I’m the course you’ll never steer
I’m the will you’ll not destroy
I’m the gin in the gin-soaked boy

I’m the half-truth in the lie
I’m the why not in the why
I’m the last roll of the die
I’m the old school in the tie
I’m the spirit in the sky
I’m the catcher in the rye
I’m the twinkle in her eye
I’m the Jeff Goldblum in the fly

Who am I?

Wow! The 4th stanza is something I'd like to dedicate to someone I know because that is how I feel. And there's mention of 'catcher in the rye'...how strangely appropriate, because someone I know loves that book.

Hmm! I just realized that I write as if someone's reading this drivel. Sigh!

But I hope He is reading and watching and listening. Because without Him who am I?

Sleep? Where art thou? (this question here is so pregnant with meaning and yet so indecipherable).

Conundrums abound. Questions abound. Answers none.

1) Why are some so blind? How can intelligent minds which can otherwise fathom and eschew ideas and concepts of the universe not understand a simple heart? Strange but true.

Digression - I need a miracle. Or else I just want to curl up and die. That'd be bliss. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. No skin. Only bones.

2) But will ignorance be bliss for some? And revelation, relief for others?

Apprehension - Time ticks by. Tick! Tick! Tick!Tick! Tomorrow is another day. Dammit!

3) Should I? Don't I know the answers already?

Rejection - That's a given. But... fear gnaws at the inside. Ego crumbles.

4) Will life go on after?

No salvation. Conclusion?

Inconclusive.

I still hurt.

Friendship

Rocks of empathy.
Laughter unbridled.
Burnished memories.
Bridges of schisms.
Bulwarks.
Oodles of hugs. Mugs of fun. Many suns.
Reflections. Detoxification of the mind.
All soul.

My verbiage is unbridled most times. But someone truly did say, 'you have one friend and you have the world' (or something to that effect). I have more than one. And dear mister God, I thank you for them.

Will sleep prove elusive today? Hope not.

Friendship is my security blanket.

Blessed.

3.25 am : Sleep eludes me.

1.56 am : Thoughts whirred in my head - a carousel gone mad.

11.20 pm : Finished for the day. Left wondering. Pain everywhere.

10.30 pm : Shams wants to know. Too distraught. Another day.

9.20 pm (not sure) : Cell rings. Am driving. Pain permeates. Again.

6.20 pm : Words echo. Move in a haze to the set of 4 wheels. Smile. Stop and have a word. Words continue to echo.

5.35 pm : Torrent of words. Perhaps incoherent, mired in pain. Recipient probably unable to fathom. That's the tragedy. I'm nothing.

Stop the rewind. Stop.

'Sorry
Is all that you can’t say
Words don’t come easily
Like sorry
Forgive me
Is all that you can’t say
Words don’t come easily
Like forgive me
But you can say baby...'

Song's run out. Inappropriate lyrics. Not for me.

3.45 am : Time ticks away. Sleep still elusive. Pain still palpable.

Dear Mister God

I don't know if you're there. I don't know if you're there and busy. I don't know whose woes you are listening to, whose supplications are being given priority. I know it's not mine. I know I'm nowhere on your radar. I'm not even a bloody blimp on it.

But when you do get the time, someday, please do tell me why. I hate that question, 'why' but I still have to ask it . What did I ever do to merit this...this...I'm at a loss for words. Why me? All I did was care. All I do is care. All I get in return is so much hurt and pain.

Is this some trial by fire? Why? I don't need this right now. It's my mistake. Yet again. To give someone the power to hurt me so. I'm wrong. Have always been. But at least give me credit for trying - for trying not to let it matter - for putting up a brave front - for trying to be me. Is that wrong? How can you just push me at the deep end and have a laugh while I'm floundering?

I'm hurting so bad and all you do is watch. Dear Mister God, I'm not Anna, but hey, I love you as much. Why are you hell bent on twisting the knife in me so deep? I just want to be loved. Is that too much to ask? In fact I don't even ask that now do I? I gave up a long time ago...but every time all you do is give me pain... I can't take it no more. I don't ask, I don't hope, I don't dream, I don't make a nuisance of myself, I'm just trying to move on... the only thing I do wrong is sometimes ask why. You never ever answer me, and I don't even ask why so often. I guess I'm your favorite child eh? I'm delighted at your wonderfully unique way of showing how much you care. Thanks mister.

I'm lost. I'm broken. I'm this close to losing it. This close. Can I ask you for just a little bit of strength? Please? Just to carry on. Don't give me happiness. That'd be too much to stomach and I'd probably get ulcers. Just a little bit of strength. And tons of humour. I need to laugh. Even through my curtain of tears, I need to laugh. Don't do this to me please. Dear God, please help me.

I thought I heard you laughing...
I think I saw you cry...(try?)..
(Oh!) That was just a dream...
That's me in the corner...
I don't know if I can do it...
I have said too much...

Mister God, this ain't Anna, but among all the squillions of people, I'd really appreciate it if you could just turn to me once in a while. And listen to my heart.

Broken, bruised, shattered and helpless.

R

Conspiracy

AAAArrrrrrgggggggggggggghhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Coldplay's Clocks when I turn on the Radio.

I'm not an undercover agent. No espionage for RAW. Not an alias. Leave me alone.
Just leave me alone. Just a
harmless
ordinary
ugly
dumbass
fool

Leave me alone. Me alone. Alone.
Please.

The Invitation

Bari sent me The Invitation 3 years ago - as far as the story of my life goes, till then, the most traumatic moment of my life. I love it. Everytime I'm down and out or angry I read it. I have it on my soft board.

The Invitation
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon, I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with the pain, your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or mine or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself, if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty everyday, and if you can source life from God's presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "yes"!

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.

It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in empty moments.

Down and out. Facade is crumbling.
Awash with tears.
I hate the question 'why'.
Is He listening?
Guess 'aap kataar main hain'...
So unfair.
I have no 'invitation'.
Doors shut.

Undid

Deletions completed. Hope it's not too late! Well, one always hopes! (Is there anything else to live with? Or on?)

'Dil ki jo baate hain, baatein jo dil ki hai, dil main hee rakhna piya...'.... Soothing, melodious, simple!

Parineeta songs are wonderful.

Yup! Did it. Undid.

X & Y

Coldplay's new album. Sampled it. First reaction - not happening.

Almost on the verge of buying it for someone who thinks Coldplay is God - pause! why should I? Y should I give a f&%*X for someone who doesn't give a damn about me?!

Didn't! Thank God!

Freedom of anonyomity

Amit's given me a scare. He read my other blog. Nothing unusual in that. He knows about it. Besides Shams and him no one on earth knows of its existence, not even Google. But like he reminded me, a blog is public. Someone out there could be reading it, and...

Have to spend some time deleting all references to the ABCDs of the world. Goddddd!!!!! That will take some time or what...sigh!! And a lot of my Internet time. Should I just say 'chuck it' or...do I give a damn who reads this blog? No one does as far as I know...but hey! someone somewhere could be watching. Creepy thought!

I value the freedom that anonyomity brings with it. I wouldn't trade it for fame, money, or success. When I read the way the world at large is going about dissecting Aishwarya Rai, I realized how lucky I was. Sting's "Every Breath You Take" takes on a whole new perspective...imagine someone somewhere always watching you, your every move, your every claim, your every word, your every flutter of the eyelash, how you put your tongue out and let it rest on your lips, the swish of your hair, the steely glint of silver in your hair, a chipped tooth, body odour, a fart, a bad pedicure, the loudness of your laugh, sagging udders (or euphemistically called breasts), an extra ounce and flounce here or there, the way you answer your phone, how you get out of your car, 'hot', 'cold', and on and on it goes, the merry-go-round of being a celebrity and celebrated. It's nauseating. But it's the price of fame, of being beautiful, of being successful. (And doesn't the world have anything better to think, or do, or write about? Just leave someone be for Christ's sake... just let her be).

Thank God I'm none of the above. Yes! I truly like the freedom of anonyomity.

And my once-held belief seems to be beckoning with a vengeance. A diary is probably better than this blog here. Will continue penning there. Blogs seem a no-no.

Anyway dear blog, ere I discontinue, just to say that the weekend was nice. Taking Friday off was such bliss. Just doing my own thing was good. Window shopping, listening to the sounds emitted by KEF speakers and Denon amps at ProFX or even an Onkyo, ooooh....! Mark Knopfler sounded like he wanted to make love to only me... oh! to be able to afford the sound is pure orgasm...but at a steep price. Ha ha ha.... we women are good at faking it, so will continue to live with my run down Sony.

Blue Ginger at the Taj West End, Tiger Bay, Memories of China at the Taj Residency, shopping, movies, breakfast at Koshy's, being single, being married - being in love, being married - being a mother, being single - being busily successful, being single - being strangled by marital worries, being single - being enviably attached with family, being enviably footloose and fancy free because one is single - ...aah! the joys and tribulations of 2 sides of the same coin... Bunty and I. Like Irfan said....Bunty & Babli. And the trials of keeping secrets. Babli suffocates.

Sigh! Babli is good at keeping secrets, and someone out there will never know... unless there's a sudden twist of fate! Highly improbable. Impossible.

Passing thought - Merriam Webster's 'Word for the Wise' is awesome. I could sit and go through the archive for hours. Thank you MW. I salute you.

Deletions coming up shortly.

Samba Men...you make me mourn!

Brazil lost to Argentina in the South America World Cup Qualifiers. Think the final score was 3 -1.

Am in mourning.

Like so huh?

Like so - circa 'hair'
'What's with the hair?' everyone asks. I'm growing it (like so...:) ) Gosh! Isn't it obvious? I liked my hair short. Got used to it. But had the urge to grow it. Wanted a bob (like 'back to college' days). Oh the long and short of it can have you by the short and curlies (LOL - I like the play of words... as someone I know would say... 'nice').

But people see things so differently - everyone's got a different looking glass eh? I think my hair looks unkempt, disheveled, raggedy - others think it looks great. There's something about perception and reality (or again, like someone I know would say, perception and perception).

Like so - circa 'Bunty'
Bunty's coming down tomorrow. One week overdue. Uh huh! 5 months overdue. Haven't seen her since our trip to KL. Whoa! God there's so much to tell her, so much to share, so much to cry about, so much to laugh at (...at ourselves too I hope...like so!).

Like so - circa 'chatter natter'
The 'back home bus chatter' revolved around science fiction, creation, baby universes and 'beam me up Scotty'. All thanks to yours truly. Would I make a great conversationalist? Naah!
But reminded me of another conversation on parallel universes and the imagery of people floating like balloons or 'birds on a wire'...like so ha ha ha! This again with someone I know... aaaaaaaaargh! Get off my mind you! You freeloader! You encroacher! Intruder! Out out out!

Like so - circa 'pool time baby'
Next week my swimming classes commence. Am I excited? Betcha! I'll be hitting a pool after 2 years? 3 years? Like so...! Hope I have the stamina. Okay, at least hope I get the legs! Am I a Dorian Gray? Sure sounds like I am. And talking of swimming, every time I mention that I swam 70 laps of 22 mts (once upon a time), the guys go 'excuse me'? Hey is that so impossible to believe. Sure, I swam. Not a mermaid, or a dolphin, but I sure swam. Now I'll perfect it...it's pool time baby. Cool!

Like so - circa 'miscellanea'
Too many books on the agenda. Holy Cow, Angels & Demons, Winning, EQ, How To Be Idle, Blink....it goes on and on and on and on....even Duracell won't be able to keep up.

Heard 'Bread' after eons. I think one of the songs brought about the panic attack last afternoon. But they're still nice. Like so... no, not nice. Very mush. Like so....what's with the like so?
Don't know!

I wonder if all blogs are as boring as mine. Who has the time to read? Are agents scurrying across to 'high potential' bloggers with ideas, advances and contracts? With a blog being published every 7 seconds and with names like 'The Darth Side' and 'The Limberg Letter' as given a look-see in the 'Blogs of Note' on blogger, it sure seems wordsmiths are having a gay time and if book agents aren't on a 'blog high pot' search and going potty, then they're surely missing the gravy train. Like so... sigh! Guess it's raining blogs and blogs rule. And along with blogs come other weird phenomenon. My other blog was rated at 550$ with no nett value or some such... and this through a google search. Shams and I are left wondering....what the hell! It cracks me up.

Like so...

Panic Attack

Suddenly. Racing heart beat. Palpitating. Couldn't breathe. Wanted to scream. Felt like death. Hopeless. Doom. Helpless. No future. Darkness. Fear.

Myriad emotions. Think of something quick - had to focus on something - quick quick. Deep breath. Work. More work. Lots more work. Gulps of water. Better. Slowly. Back to being abnormal.

It's happened before. Not very often. But it has. Frightening.

Back continues to hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt. Head throbs - throb, throb, throb.

Need to breathe. In and out, in and out, in and out. Need to fight depression. Need to like myself. Need to focus. Need to many things. Where's the will?

Life hurts.

Scent of a Woman

Name of movie: Scent of a Woman
Actors: Al Pacino and Chris O'Donnnell with a wonderful cameo by Gabrielle Anwar.
How did I feel? - Emotional - nothing unusual at that. I can cry at the drop of a hat. Felt envious. At the wonderful screenplay, at the creative mind that had thought of such a story to tell, at the director for directing so well and for actors to have essayed roles so powerfully. Ah to be an actor! And to be a gifted actor at that. I'd have given almost anything to have been the creator of such a story. There's something about creation... about thinking up stories to tell... and to have a story come to life...there's something about writing methinks. Just as there's something about directing or cinematography and of course acting. And hey, there's something about editing. (I've nursed a secret desire. I'd loved to have been an editor - that's Confession for the Day....:) ).

Why did I think of SOaW? - My salsa classes nudged a bit of memory - wakey wakey memory it said. Remember the dance sequence? The wonderful tango?Mmmm...so poignant! So absolutely delightful. The sight of the visually challenged man also brought forth the memory of children happily traipsing down stairs at the Happy Home. I used to refer to them as 'my children'. Children for whom I started learning braille. Sigh! Never mind...that's another life. Hoo haa! (or was that Hee haa or Eee aaah!...never mind R, never mind).

Name of movie - As Good As It Gets
Actors - Jack Nicholson, Helen Hunt and Greg Kinnear
How do I feel? - I just finished watching it on a movie channel. For perhaps the 4th time? Don't remember, don't care. I can watch it again. It was pure chance that I was watching it - watching TV is pure chance - you chance upon something that truly excites or interests you - instead of the mindless tripe they dish out. I got lucky on chance. Serendipity is a nice thing when it throws up pleasant surprises.

Jack Nicholson is such an ugly man. But what an actor! His every twitch in the movie seemed to have been perfected. He was the man with the Compulsive Obsessive Disorder. The slight hesitation when he pats Simon's (Greg Kinnear) shoulder with his gloves on. Ha ha. And every dialogue by Melwin (Melvin/ Melwyn?? Jack Nicholson's character) is a classic. "You're not pissed off because you had it so bad, but because others had it so good". I love that one. And when he says, "I'm dying here"...oh God! It's bittersweet..you can't help grinning at the same time have tears rolling down...you can't help going... ha ha ha...tsk tsk tsk....sniff sniff..ha ha ha! (Dammit, I'm dying here too...but no one's listening...so what R? Just one more death among 6 billion isn't going to make a whit of a difference...who gives a flying f$%k!).

"How are you?" Answer to the questions was 'Not good'. Should have been, ' In great pain'. Back hurts like crazy. Thankfully my manager gave me a lift half way home. She didn't have to, but she did. I'm thankful and grateful. Have to get my ass to office tomorrow. Office is killing. I'm slowly being walled alive, snowed under, drowning, or call it what you will, but don't know if I should just adopt a Buddha like stance and hope that this too shall pass. Sigh! Lotus position coming up.

I had a near brush with being physically challenged for life this morning. My bus driver and a BMTC bus almost collided and if it had, I'd have been maimed for life if not lost my life for sure, and I shouted out loud involuntarily while everyone else in my bus looked up puzzled, like hey, something the matter? Just a collision..it's not like you lost your job?
Didn't see my life passing me by in a flash...so I guessed in an infinitesmial moment that I had survived. I wasn't dead. Reminded me of the time when I was dragged by the train...another life!

Sometimes it makes you wonder what it would take to lead an extraordinary life?
Sometimes it makes you wonder what is extraordinary?
Sometimes it makes you wonder, when was the last time you did something for the first time?
Sometimes it makes you wonder, is life really an illusion and is there no reality?
Sometimes it makes you wonder why we feel the way we do? About people, issues and the world around us?
Sometimes it makes you wonder why love is such a bloody painful 4 letter word? Damn!
Sometimes I wonder if I'm really caught up between what I want and what I don't get!
Sometimes I wonder if someone will know the scent of a woman...this woman...me!
Sometimes I wonder if this is really as good as it gets!

I wonder all the time.... (like my Little Prince actually smiles nowadays....hmm! maybe his life is coming up roses...he can't smile cause he saw me???!! Good for the Little Prince...may his planet never have baobabs!).

It's nice to wonder.

So does it make me wonder-ful?...:) (not by a long shot honey, you have another think coming!).

Liberation! Yahoooooooo.....!!!

3 exclamation marks means very very very thrilled. Maybe then I should have put 4 or 5? Awww! Who cares!

I'm writing after a slight hiatus because I feel liberated. Realization dawns. Oh God! How much wasted time and energy! Realization dawning is such sweet relief. I can taste it.

Salsa, swimming coming up this month. French next. And then bar tending. Where's the time to moon? I'm so angry at myself I could kick myself. And so much to read, write, listen to and see.
Oh yes! The power of being positive is such intoxication.

Well... life is good right now. Life suddenly seems livable, seems pregnant with promise. Liberation! Freedom! Azaadi! Man (fuck 'em) oh man!

All ye single women out there? 'He's just not that into you' - recommended reading. Go get it. May the force be with you. Yahoooooooo!