The Big Chill

It is true. Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I think I will just go and eat some worms.

Like my dear loves Robbie Williams/Gary Barlow say, "Self preservation was no explanation for anything".

My boss was right. I'd never survive a relationship. Anyway, this is killing me, so lets just forget it.

I am so bored with you.

Er. We need to start doing better drugs. Like exercise. Or sex. What say?

You know that first smell you get when you enter your home? Not your rented make-shift home, but the home your grew up in home. I realised just how MUCH I love that smell when I walked into my home today. It was a smell that said, hey, everything will be fine and I love you anyway.

This time of course, I'm not planning to run away for months on end, but I need this energy. I was beginning to feel like iron man out of charge. So now... see you later alligator (haha, I haven't said that forever).

Put in perspective, X is a lot like Y, in terms of being a friend, but I guess the only difference is that, I had hopes pinned on Y and a butterflies kind of love reserved for him, and I don't have that for X. So it's easier and not disappointing as such. I'm not disappointed much these days.

I think I've always been the kind of person who's happy being in an isolated kind of place with one or two really close friends and that's it. I don't like being in a crowded place with a lot of friends because I always end up disappointing someone or the other. I think I understand why people cheat sometimes.

I love Blind Pilot. On days when my uterus feels like crap, and my throat is scratchy from too much smoking, Blind Pilot is perfect. I swear I can't feel the roof of my mouth and I keep seeing feet pass me by, but its just the curtains. I think I should water my plant now, because it looks like she's dying.

Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do

I think I can listen to Space Oddity on loop forever in my hell. David Bowie gives me hope, with his confused sexuality and strange hair and stranger songs.

I've done it. I've crossed a new threshold of boredom and joblessness. I'm doing nothing and I don't know how I'm doing it for so long. I'm amazing me. I wish I was an astronaut sometimes.

I just don't want my parents to discover me one day drug addicted and morbidly obese, a sociopath and secret stasher of rotten food. I've already lovingly preserved a half eaten amla and called it Fungus, for obvious reasons. I think I would have made a great scientist.

I think I am about to burst.

Truth is, no-one likes these.

It's early morning, and I need some kind of rain, some kind of catharsis. I want to take this bottle from out of my gullet and smash it open and throw it somewhere. I'm wobbly because of these bottles. One for every year since 10. I don't fucking want them anymore.

Maybe this is how Charlie Sheen feels every morning. Borderline. Mad. Mad. Mad.

Sunday

Simon and Garfunkel, fried eggs, some serious procrastination and defrosting the fridge. Oh Sunday - you mean something even to the unemployed.

Sorry for the constant whining. I'll make an honest attempt to stop.

Last night (or this morning, not sure) I had a funny dream about a robot and a man in disguise. This man (who's really a friend of mine) went to a house which had these two brothers who were real bullies. Like they were really mean sonofabitches and this dude had to find a way around them, because he had to live there and stuff for a while. So he wore this very obvious disguise of an old man, and was super cranky all the time. He did a fantastic job because these bully brothers were scared shitless and gave him some female robot to play with (who looked a little like Rosie from the Jetsons). And this robot gave hugs and did a lot of Japanese things I can't remember in detail right now. But she had a lot of buttons and this man couldn't really figure it out. Then it was time to leave, and I was also there, and I was collecting washed underwear from the verandah.

Anyhoo.

I'm deeply embarrassed to announce, I have started playing Mafia Wars again.

Have a nice Sunday.

Dark

God, I know when I start listening to Elliot Smith I've hit a new low. Life's in loop, seriously. This feels like 15 all over again, and 15, was definitely. not. good.

Thanks to a friend I have a new obsession. Monkey Dust. Fuck. It's so disturbingly, obsessively good.

Yesterday was really embarrassing. I just realized how so out of love/affection/infatuation I was. I don't think I was being cruel, but I was not being nice either. Which is immature and silly, but I can't help feeling completely and utterly disconnected. As C says, I was "dead-walling" him. Probably. Also, I think when you spend a lot of time alone you kind of get used to it and the thought of opening yourself out to others seems time consuming and tiresome. I don't have that kind of patience or understanding anymore. With anyone. I like short meaningful moments that need not amount to much except maybe a shared joint or joke and then okbye.

I need some discipline. I need to join a gym. I need to clock in time and clock out time. I need to have a principal, a teacher, a P.T. teacher. I can't control myself.

There was this article in Mumbai Mirror today, which felt kind of irresponsible because it would lead people like me to believe something was wrong. People who are weak minded and easily influenced. I am sure when you read this you'll identify too. Because we're all a little fucked up yeah yeah.

Does it bother you when you're not asked if you're okay? Especially by someone you love? Or you're asked, but in a fleeting, superficial way which feels kind of worse. Do me a favour. Fuck the small talk. Watch Monkey Dust instead.

SO bored. So disgustingly bored. I'm starting to get annoyed and annoying. Blah.