something in me thinks, i’ve had one too many drinks

It’s a messy room that no one cleans but me.

Well, ok, a tiny old lady knocks my door every Tuesday, usually when I’m still asleep, and shoos me out before she does the bathroom, vacuums the floor and dusts the tabletops. The first time this happened, I thought it was a nice little poetic irony: the little old, white woman cleaning while I, the decadent young third-world student look on from my position of class-privilege. Later on I just felt bad for her having to work at an age when Indian old ladies go walking in parks, dress up and gossip at family dinners and generally make noisy nuisances of themselves.

I’m usually in here watching Prison Break, How I Met Your Mother or, of late, House. And eating breakfast/dinner, brunch, snacking, or the inevitable chocolate biscuits. I recently threw out all my empty dabbas and there were way too many for me to mention here. I’m addicted to them, I can’t help it! Whoever thought the idea of coating biscuits with milk chocolate was good was sadly mistaken: it is pure EVIL.

I also drink copious amounts of my favourite ginger and lemon tea, while reading incomprehensible theoretical essays that make me feel brain-dead after a page or two. In fact, that’s what I ought to be doing right now except a serious fit of self-pity hit me and I couldn’t stomach another word of discourse. Oh well, since Wednesday is usually my beering day, I will hang on.

No, I’m not turning into an alcoholic!

Sigh. If only things were as you wanted them to be, and people texted precisely when they were meant to!

:)

the church of the losers, the sinners, the dropouts, the fools

Back home, finally. Except now my room doesn’t seem as appealing as it did before, when I sentenced myself to stay within its four enveloping walls of comfort.

I don’t know why I’m so bored, irritable and moody. I can’t pinpoint the source of all this crabbiness; it seems to have started sometime last year, and it has developed a mind of its own.

The list of people who bore me seems to grow and shrink according to mood; sometimes everyone is amusing and entertaining, at other times they’re all a bunch of morons, including myself.

And sadly, men seem to fare badly all the time. They’re either entirely stupid, or pretending to be intelligent despite a noticeable lack of brain cells, or they are insipid and unworthy of notice. I cannot believe that this city lacks intelligent and desirable (is it so hard for the two qualities to occur in the same human being?) men.
Pity.

It’s all so insufferably fatiguing. I need to GET OUT.

[progress on Midnight's Children = almost negligible, currently on Pg 83]

chasing away the hours

Tomorrow’s the last day of college – thank GOD for that. I’m tired of Stella, 7.00 am mornings and listening to (mostly) insipid teachers.

As usual this post is only so that I can kill time and take a break from my essay [on Existentialism and the Absurd in the plays of Sheridan, Shaw and Coward, if you must know] because I can’t write more than 1400 words of garbage and keep going without a break.

Soumya was over last night and we baked into the wee hours of the morning. The result = 1 chocolate pear pie, slightly burnt with a crust that could have done with a tiny bit more sugar but overall, quite enjoyable. We also, in true empowered-single-women style, stayed up watching Love Actually and spying on ex-boyfriends while simultaneously dissing them royally and wondering how we could have ever stooped so low as to bestow ourselves on the aforesaid scum.

Needless to say, we concluded that we ought to save ourselves for more exalted stuff, though Sou still thinks Mr. Darcy is not worth it. I will not give up though, and will continue trying to educate her.

But one thing we agreed on is the strange and arbitrary nature of modern relationships. I mean, one minute you can be so close to someone that you tell them everything, from the act of brushing your teeth to the latest (and unfounded) rumour about your best friend that you can’t tell anyone else because it’d be condemned as bitching…

…and then, one day, you’re bitching about him to your best friend and vowing to never let anyone get that close to you again. It’s quite fascinating to go from intimate to i’d-rather-be-dead-than-see-you-in-the-street.

Ah, the absurdity of life! Let’s all go live in a comedy of manners.

mine’s not a new story

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to just be by myself.

Every hour of every day, I’m afraid of finding time to think, to let my mind wander, to plan for the “future” that’s looming large on my shrinking horizon.

I’ve spent this weekend in a daze, running from alcohol to cigarettes to the intoxicating company of people I love – each of them a fix, in whatever way – and never letting myself stop long enough to catch my breath.

I’ve been guilty of naivete, ignorance, indifference and self-obsession.

But it’s only because I can’t stand those empty moments, when there’s no conversation, no loud music, no witty repartee to drown out the voice in my head.

summer nights

This summer has been one of the most boring summers of my entire life. It’s been hot, sticky, irritatingly melodramatic, nice in parts and utterly unbearable in most.

The last year of college has begun and I’m already beginning to feel pangs of anxiety about what I want to do next year.

I’ve been driving myself insane lately, though most of that is attributable to an amazingly…violent attack of PMS, ugh. Haha, somewhere, I can see someone thinking “too much detail!” But pooh, this is my blog, I can say whatever the hell I want to.

So much work, so much time, but so little inclination! Something must happen soon or I’ll die in this lethargy.