Life’s little ironies
How ironic. Just when I vowed to say less, I have lost my voice.
The point of…everything?
There comes a point where you are forced to question everything. Forced to deal with the fact that even though you have done the best you ever could, things and the situation just spins out of control.
No matter, how hard you try, you stay back late to put in the extra effort and you pour your heart into emails just to get the job done, only to have it backfire in your face. And you know that there is no other appealing thing other than the fact that the end is never going to be in sight?
And you turn down dates, with men, simply because you can find a fault, any fault with them, that glares in the face of perfection of all the other men you have ever dated and they fail to measure up.
Friends, don’t really feel like friends, because they perceptibly only come out of the woodwork when they need something and not because they want to make you feel like they care. And increasingly it has become about what you can do for them, than what they can do for you.
At the end of it all, you come home tired, ill-willed, disillusioned, cynical, unhappy and simply too troubled by the throng of idiotic problems to enjoy the food, which turns to ashes in one’s mouth. To listen to good music, because it turns to screeching in one’s ears and to smell familiar scents that were once comforting and to feel the usually familiar and relaxing presence of one’s bed.
I think I am going through the ever-mythical quarter life crisis that I deigned to laugh in the face of those who tried to warn of its existence and now everything about it seems poignantly true.
Bonding over gourmet pizzas
I made pizzas for my family on Sunday, simply because this is the first time in a long time that I have been home on a weekend. Also it is the first time in a long time since I did not bring any work home or been too exhausted to do anything else.
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Writing on a high
Today, due to multiple illnesses attacking my body all at once, I was prescribed a cocktail of medication.
Also, due to deadlines which never go away, I had to sit down at home, on my day of rest, to finish some work.
Of course, it is always never nice to get writer’s block with a looming deadline.
So I swallowed all the medication at once (with food of course! This is a public service warning to kids that you should always listen to your doctors) and never felt so ‘high’ in my life.
I sat down to write thereafter, and lo and behold, my writer’s block was cured.
Now I know why people get addicted to narcotics and why Slyvia Plath writes so well.
I also discovered that falling sick is pretty common in an office that is under-staffed.
Run Lola Run
Running has always been my way of releasing the pent-up frustrations that have built up over the course of time.
I am a loner when I run. I like it that way, unless my family joins in the routine occasionally.
Otherwise, it is just me and the wind and the salty, lingering taste of the sea in the air. Read the rest of this entry »
JET concert at Fort Canning
I know I am a little late with this entry, and what should have been a concert that took place last month, is still freshly etched in my mind, as though it was just yesterday.
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