Thursday, October 29, 2009

After the birthday rant

I could feel the effects of venting even as I was writing this post. Inspite of not wanting to work, I came to office around 08:30 so that I could put in half a day's work and then leave. That plan went for a toss and it was 16:00 by the time I actually left...

I had begun to write this post the day after the rant, but I got so bored writing it, I knew it would put any reader to sleep. So I cut out the boring "what happened" crap. As I said to a friend who sent a sweet email wishing my worries away, all those unhappy thoughts were drowned in cake and coffee and 4 hours of non-stop chit-chat with friends.

Then yesterday, another friend read that post and said, "I think we all need something to be sad about." Is it necessary to say she had a point? My problem is, why do I choose my birthdays to feel that way?! I guess, like my dad says about my mom, "she's happy to be unhappy." Sigh! Why do we have to grow up and turn into photocopies of our parents? Especially in those aspects that we so abhor?! Why can't we simply inherit or imbibe their good qualities? Shrug.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009


...and I feel like shit. I'm tired of myself. Of my lack of drive and determination. Of not knowing why I am here, what I am supposed to achieve. It's been about four years since I've been truly inspired to do something and had any motivation to pursue it.

Also, I've been feeling pointless since many years now. I could be dead any moment and nothing would change. My mom would probably lose all urge to live, but that's just because she is my mom. Dad would be shocked but he would move on, just like my husband would. Everything else would pretty much be the same. I think at some level I like it that way. To just pass on quietly, without causing anyone any hindrance. It's so frustrating to go on living not knowing what you want. How do people do that year after year?

I've been wallowing in the cesspool of such thoughts for so long now. I'm gonna die in it. Maybe I want to. Move on to a better place. But I know that there isn't any. I'm here this moment for a reason and it's right in front of me, but I am unable to see it. Or maybe I'm running away from it. I'm surprised at how weak I turned out to be. How lazy and how inept at doing what I should be doing.


I like to be left alone on my birthday. To introspect, to relax and just be myself (which, nowadays, is having my huge ass stuck to the couch and flipping through TV channels), and to sleep like there's nothing else to be done (which mostly only translates to a siesta). I hate to go visit people or have a party. Except for the couple of gatherings with friends back in college. Or a small treat at the wada-pav outlet. I'd rather sit at home all day, eat Maggi and read a book, and then indulge in some nice coffee before going off to sleep. Or maybe spend a whole day driving around in a car all by myself (which wasn't an option until recently).

One time an aunt threw me a surprise party and invited all my college friends over. It was nice, but we were all a bit awkward with the dancing. I, however, felt a bit betrayed that my friends would keep a secret from me. Especially 'cause the aunt was sort of fun to be around but not really close.

It seems like fun today, because I came to the office and forgot my phone at home. The coming to office part is not fun, though. I usually don't mind working on my birthday, but today I really wanted to stay at home. Which is why I was pissed off in the morning. When I slept last night, all was well. But I kept being woken up by my dogs in between (they kept trying to climb into our bed; it must've been cold) and then everything went downhill in my mind. I woke up with a really heartfelt frown and kept sulking. Every little annoying thing snowballs into a nasty mood if it's your birthday (well, that's true for me on any other day as well).

Thursday, October 08, 2009

CY 09 Q3 Analysis

This one's quite simple. All plans to turn any of my previously mentioned hopes into reality have gone out of the window. I started working on it with gusto, and tried to keep track once or twice, but by now all my energy has run out and I have given up.

I want to give it all up, actually. I want a whole different life, but I'm stuck with the choices I made. One choice in particular. I could shrug it all off and be free, but that would put a whole bunch of people in distress. And I can't afford anything more weighing on my conscience. So I'll try and stick it out, clinging to my leftover sanity.

I won't even bother with an analysis at the end of this CY, because it would require me to explain in great detail what a fool I am. That is common knowledge to people around me, and I think I'll spare the internet from this gyaan.

Isn't it true international integration

... when dancers of African and north-east Asian origin
perform a Bollywood routine
choreographed by Californians of Indian origin
on an American TV show
produced and hosted by people of European origin (English, to be precise)
judged by English and American people
and cheered on by a bunch of Americans?

So You Think You Can Dance rocks! Thank you, Nigel.

(Yes, yes, I'm way behind the times... I'm watching season 4, which was aired way back in 2008, but which is being repeated on one of the channels only now. I can't even remember which cannel, 'coz hubby dearest has programmed it for recording, and we watch those at our convenience, skipping the adverts. BIG yay for Tata Sky+!!)

Also, in a way, the decked-up Katie reminds me of Effe.

On a side note: what do you do with a husband whom you've invited for a romp in the marital bed (like RNM says), but who prefers to watch a 2-hour session of the aforementioned program instead?

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Patterns and numbers

I just noticed that my number of blog posts
... in the first year
= p1 = 12
... in the second year
= p2 = p1 x 2 + 2 = 26
... in the third year
= p3 = p2 x 2 + 4 = 56

If the pattern continues
... in the fourth year
= p4 = p3 x 2 + 6 (or 8, I could twist it the way I want ;-))
... which means I could write 118 or 120 posts this year. Hmm. I hope they aren't all fake posts like this one.

Also, the pattern will surely not continue the next year onwards, 'coz there's no way I can write 256 posts in a year. Well, unless I decide to write about the number of boogers I pick in a day, or day to day reports about the quality of my dogs' poop, or the decibel levels achieved when squabbling with the hubby (did I beat my mother's score yet?).