On Weather. And Love.

It is so hot already. Not the spring-kind hot, no sir!
The kind that makes you re-shcedule all your day plans to night in your quest to avoid the heat. The kind that makes the re-shceduling a fail because nights are equally hot. The kind when you can't have a blanket over you all night, lest you want to melt with sweat. The kind when you can't not have a blanket over you all night, lest the mosquitoes carry you away.

Either way, I am toast.

I loathe summers with all my heart and more. I don't tolerate them voluntarily anywhere else but in Goa probably. That too because of the divine relief of the waters there. Summers shouldn't exist. But if at all they must, they must must must follow Spring. Spring sets base. It's transitional. You mourn the demise of the winters, but your hair doesn't act up already. You get your legs waxed regularly for tiny lowers, only to team them with warmish tops. You don't sweat. I don't sweat.

But I do now!

This is rather awkward because apparently New Delhi doesn't know it's supposed to be spring right now. It was 11 degrees just the other day and bam! now it's over 30 !!
Whatever happened to the middle time? When both team-summer and team-winter find a common season to coexist without calling  one another names for their seasonal preferences.

Co-existence is key.

Like, love.

Or whatever the hell they call it these days. Your first time, or one of the first few times is all love-like. And trusting. Filled with butterflies in the stomach, not heat in the loins. When you blush and your cheeks colour; and sexual innuendos is a very rare cause of that. You write poems in love and wait for stolen glances across rooms. You are so happy. And even when you are not, you somehow think you deserve the pain and suffering you go through. It all seems worth it.
You're in love, remember?

And then that gets over for miscellaneous reasons.

And bam! You go from 11 degrees to over 30 so quickly that is spins your head. You become incapable of emotion. You become incapable of trusting. You become incapable of sustaining a relationship without fucking it up the fear of fucking it up.

Before you know it, you are your cynical best and an absolute joy to be around all the fucking time?

*rolls eyes*

too young to die, too old to believe in promises...

Whatever happened to spring, man?

Weird.

People grow up. They change. It's rather funny. You go through each day in all its monotony, cursing it for being so mundane. You go through each day just as the previous one; acknowledging no change whatsoever. And then you look back. And it hits you that you've come a long way since u started out. It's a strange thing, change. For better or for worse, we never know what is changing or why. Then one day you look back trying to figure out how you got here. And it hits you that you've lived all this time, consciously or otherwise, trying to escape your past in some way or the other.

Have you succeeded? 

Debatable.

People. It's always been about people with me. Institutes, places, vacations, time in my life; it's all been extremely people-specific for me. I've always maintained how I'm not deserving of most of the love, adulation and popularity that people bestow on me ever so generously. In fact, I'm not particularly proud of my treatment of a lottttt of people in my past. I call it my past specifically because I'd like to believe that I've evolved a little and am not mean to people unless I truly believe that they deserve it.
Or when I don't like their face.
But that's the thing about people. Or at least about most of the people I know. They're too nice.
They love too much.
Another thing about these people I talk about, they pop up from time to time. With the same amount of love and adulation in their hearts. Regardless of how I may have treated them once upon a time. Regardless of my behaviour with them that I may not be particularly proud of. And what that does to my heart, you wonder? It unsettles it. It makes me restless. Anxious, even.

I can't focus now.
Who are these weird people man?
Why can't they just hate me like normal people would do?
Why can't they stop pretending that we've shared some great fun times in the past?
Because, we didn't. We never have!

Weird.

#InOtherNews

In other news, I have a Twitter Account now which I absolutely don't know how to work. Any help regarding it would be appreciated. Especially, if someone could tell me the objective of the damn venture.

As cocky as it sounds, follow me :)
Even if it is only to tell me, what the fuck is up on it.
#Clueless.

^Seee! Im learning.

Takes My Heart Awayyyyy...

The truth in every single word!
Enjoy!
:)

Blog Whore.

That's the thing about Facebook...
When you have it in your life, your blog doesn't read of your 'lack of life'.
When you have it in your life, you have something to do for infinite hours each time you switch on your laptop.
When you have it in your life, you don't become a blog whore.

I'm scared I'd be blogging every hour of my life if the same persists. At least on the days I'm home.
Like today.

It's Such Great February Weather...

So it just struck me...

That maybe I should trick an old man into marrying me.
A rich old man.
And then live with him in his mansion till he dies.
And even after that, continue to live there. Without him.

So it just struck me...

That all of us would drift apart in our respective worlds eventually.
And even though we talk of marriage as a catastrophe now,
most of us would end up giving in to familial/societal pressures.
And not with old men with infertile dicks and huge apartments.
But with nice men... who'd get us. Our dreams and aspirations.
And would laugh with us.
And would satisfy us in bed. But not think about sex all the fucking time.
And would  know how to articulate in impeccable English.
The kind of men Tee and I talk about all the time!
Maybe they don't exist.
And then, for some strange reason, Goa came to my mind.

So it just struck me...

That all men hit on you in Goa. Even cab drivers or men from Philippines.
That was someee night. Makes me laugh even now.
But I can't live in Goa. You know? Sustained living. But it's my favourite getaway.
Drink at any point of the day without being judged.
Chill with the girls under the stars laughing till your insides hurt.
Celebrate your freedom in every sense of the word.

Where else is the air this much fun? It takes you in.
Each day is like the big blue sky there. Yup. The day is like the sky.
Infinite. Sublime.
There's the burning sea water. And it melts you.
It melts you and your ever so profound teen spirit everyone seems to talk about!
And you're always in a mood.
To do something.

Anything you're not supposed to.

It just struck me...

Delhi is getting monotonous.
So is growing up, if you ask me.
If it wasn't for such great February weather...

!@#$%^&*

It's almost midnight and I sit in a very very dirty room wearing, what I call 'the first signs of winters ending', borrowed boxers and t-shirt. It's also a reminder of a long overdue leg-waxing appointment. But that's another story.

I write this not to make a point but to kill time. When you are five days into having deactivated your Facebook account, you realize that Facebook takes away a lot of your time, yes. However, the bigger realization is that you probably didn't need as much time in the first place. Especially, if you're like me. 

Ive never really been into Superheroes, per se. But they have this kind of novelty, you know? So it's always great to think that you're like some Superhero too; at least at some points in your life. And then life happens and reality strikes and you realize that you're no Superhero; just plain old Garfield.

And I'm Garfield.

And hence I don't need all this time off Facebook. I just want to eat and sleep.

And drink and smoke and dance and have sex.

But Garfield sex, you know?

I just have one problem with Facebook - The stalker-hood it is! I go out, I sneeze, I come back home and log in- there's a picture of me sneezing on my profile! Ugh. It was consuming my entire life! And telling me I know way too many people or have one dress too less or repetitive makeup or Bah! I don't know. It's frustrating. And over 2500 pictures of you tagged by other people just does it.

So ya. I'm off. 

Not for good, though. It's just a little break.

It's like an ex flame you can't ever get rid of for too long. Im just saying.

I can't believe how much I've typed already. And most of it doesn't even make sense. Like, it makes sense to me because I've written it. Completely original ideas. Wow! I think I got this smart dating. I think you should date people wayyyyyy out of your league. Preferably older. And then let them teach you a thing or two. And then you break up. Because they're out of your league, remember? But not a messy break up. Then you move on. Don't worry about dying along. Because, believe it or not, you are never fucking alone! EVER. Even when you might want to be.
I think I write better on my laptop than on paper. Haha. Imagine! This is my better. I'm no writer. I thought I was a while ago. But then I realized I write just like I talk. And then sometimes I write giving away more than what I may have desired. That's not really a sign of a great writer, now is it?

See! All this time at hand! So much to do! But I would much rather Garfield around and blog about absolutely nothing!

Speaking of blogging about absolutely nothing, my blog turned two on the 13th of this month. Haha. Two years of my unpremeditated blabber about 'sex, parties, alcohol and friends'. 

"Girls your age talk about love and feelings"

"I talk about love. I love sex, parties, alcohol and my friends!!"

And of course I couldn't care less. And I forgot all about it until yesterday. Because I know I'm not a writer no more. The bigger question, however, is that if I ever was?

Now I'm bored and I'm out of smokes.
I miss my brother.

Goodnight.