Not surprisingly, written when I was doing… nothing. Last night. A very Jay type post.
I’ve run out of House to watch. It’s easy to summon Laurie in my head and lust after him, but the head is presently too cluttered with thoughts of people I can reach out to and touch. Wait. Suddenly I see a pair of electric blue eyes wherever I look, just like in the movies. Shoo.
Since I have nothing to do, what I am now doing is, creating a microchip on Paint. It’s really easy to make a microchip: colour your background maroon or a deep green. Then, use the select tool, to cut out rectangles and squares off your background that leave white gaps behind, and jumble them around on your screen. The important thing is to really think you are designing a microchip. And voila, I have saved on my desktop, something I swear looks like a really cool digital microchip thingum. Whatever that is.
I just realized that my name anagrams with ‘I trip’. Quite cool, in my opinion.
I am not high on anything right now though. Fatigue, maybe.
‘To know Jenny is to love Jenny’, a line from one of my favouritestest books is in fact a lift from a Beatles song! Sheesh!
Bill Withers’ version of Ain’t No Sunshine is way better than McCartney’s. I am sorry, but it is true.
Music is therapeutic, especially when you are dead on your feet. I am glad I have realized that at least now, some 22 years too late. Better late than… (never complete a cliché, no matter how short).
I believe that it is possible to pass fandom down through genes. That is the only plausible explanation I can proffer for my being an MGR fan. And I sure will pass it down. So that gives my progeny one thing to thank me for, for MGR shall always remain cool, and one thing to curse me for, the ugly nose, my family heirloom. (The nose is from my mother’s side, and the MGR craziness is from both sides – just clarifying).
Note to self: when you walk on the road singing aloud and doing a bad job of strumming an imaginary guitar, cease to be surprised by dirty stares. People do that.
Someone told me a few days back, that I look poor. It is terribly amusing to think that I look impoverished, but today when I looked at the mirror, I realized I perhaps really do. And I am proud of it.
It’s actually pretty cool being uncool, and accepting and enjoying the fact that you are uncool. Less effort, more fun. You also get to be friends with a lot more people.
I am not doing anything right now, just trying to relax. But it has been so long since the last time I was really vetti. I miss being vetti.
I used to want to run a little roadside maligai kadai when I was young. I still do actually. And I will someday.
I am waiting for the day I can sleep without clutching the wooden bedpost in paranoia. It has been so long since I slept like that.
I miss writing for fun. I hope the ability comes back soon.
I often wonder what will happen after my death. As in, who will react how and do what to move on, and who will actually need effort to move on and stuff. Morbid, I know. But I am just terribly curious, no pathos and all. I won’t write a will, so yeah, go ahead and fight amongst yourselves for my Santa cap, books and crayons. The Wii, unfortunately, is household property.
I want to do a lot in life. But I strongly suspect that all I ever want from life is a warm hug when I feel like it. Seriously.
And of course, Hugh Laurie to fantasize about. Shallow, you think? Ask him; he murdered my reading habit.
Shame on me. Shall return to my book pronto. Good night.
