Mismatched Socks

I wore mismatched socks all day yesterday and felt exceedingly proud of myself. .It was as if I was telling ‘Aha! I don’t need you’ to all those other pair of socks, earings, shoes, gloves etc that go and hide themeselves just when you most want them. I swear I hear their tittering laughter as I go rampaging round my room upturing drawers, chests and racks and crawl under my bed in search of them.  To confirm my theory, my other black sock has come slinking back into view today as if to say: ‘what’s a little hide and seek among friends?’ Aha!

Also, people in this college are too polite to point out one’s utter lack of colour coordination. The other option of course is they’ve long given up and labelled one as a ‘lost cause’ as far as such things are concerned.

More importantly, December is a mere week away. Exams are like in three days, but that is not the point.

It’s a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world or Hello, again…

For the past few days, I’ve been feeling a lot like Gordan Way. I don’t remember much about this character from Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, but what’s stuck in my head is a description of how he would call up people, preferably being directed to their answering machines, and then talk his heart out as to what all was needed to be done. I don’t remember much about him apart from the fact that he kinda gets killed by an electric monk and his horse – at least I think it was a horse, it might as well have been a donkey- but the more important thing is – I kinda understand his urge to tell people about his elaborate list of Things to Do.

I find myself trusted with responsibility; tons of it. Sure, there might be the tad bit of me that’s pleased with this development but a larger more ‘get me out of here’ part is sick with worry. It’s not that big a deal, except I can’t seem to quit making lists. Also, I might be secretly a tyrant in the making; what’s worrying is how pleased I am by the idea.

I spent twelve hours yesterday and today morning formatting and editing a piece of work, just to realize a moment after I had dispatched it, that I’d forgotten to do something as basic as run it through an MS Word Spell n’ Grammar Check. I’ve most probably over–edited it and most definitely forgotten to add page numbers. I am not quite sure whether I could pass it off as a balancing act.

The LAN connection in College has been tweaked so that certain searches on key words evoke an error message. Considering the Third year First Round Internal Moot Problem is about a gang raped woman whose bisexual husband runs away with her first gay ex-husband, the ingenuity of this tweaking is mind numbing. Ah well.

I wish I could say that I am mooting again for the right reasons; more than the right reasons, wish I could say with a theatrical smirk and a half shrug – ‘Coz I am good at it.’ A lot of people in my batch seemed to have given up on it…at least for this year. I persist because…well, because I don’t want to regret not giving it another shot, because I love the high and the effort that goes in, and even at its worst, there is a delirious part of me that knows that looking back it will all seem funny. I realize the last lines straight from one of those American movies, where the hero/heroine amidst cheery pop music decides to do whatever big thing that he/she had been feeling rather ambivalent about. Chances are, this being the real world and all, if I don’t make the cut, I’ll be bawling my eyes out, but I am, for most parts, certain that, heartbreak or not, I’d still be glad that I did it.

In other news I still do not have a Law and Economics topic. Also, though the ‘geeky coolness’ of saying I am studying Space Law still makes me grin, my project topic on spectrum and orbit leasing might have wooshed over my head, narrowly missing my hair. Not that, technology was ever my forte…have I told you about the time when I crashed not one but two laptops in the space of a week? Oh wait, that was last week! Philip, to whom all my laptop woes are directed, told me he was going to donate to a corpus fund so that he could buy me a typewriter. I went through all the classic symptoms of de-addiction. All I could think of doing when all my friends were listening to music, playing games, watching movies, doing projects – in short hanging out with their own respective laptops was well clean. I dusted my books, regained the surface of my table from piles of accumulated junk, ironed my clothes and when all that could be done was done, I did something more along the lines. Think about it. I spent entire Sundays cleaning! The Horror!

Of course, I am back to my old ways, now that my laptop’s returned. I just spent an entire evening writing this long drawn out rather pointless post…which was the only way I could think off coming out of a really long hiatus. It was either this or one of those mindless ‘you’re tagged’ blog polls. And I used that, the last time

Cooking Up Memories…

I am learning to cook. Well watching my mum cook at times is more like it. Even though there are some primitive notions attached to the whole process (GirlReaching Marriageable Age – Must Know To Cook) I quite enjoy it. Especially when there is this cooking show inspired voice over going on inside my head- “now that you’ve added the onions, stir the contents until golden brown” or “lift up the lid and mmmh the flavour just hits you, doesn’t it?” I’ve got my very own ‘You Can Cook’ going on in my head.

My childhood is polka doted with memories that are connected to food. My first (hopefully made up) memory is being irritated with all the other kids, at my birthday party, for eating my sweets, my memory of leaving Lucknow as a seven year old, is connected to the fact that Anup uncle bought me not one but TWO packets of Lays chips from the railway station and that when I went to the planetarium for the first time in my life I had vanilla cup ice cream. Need I go further?

Reading about food itself for me is terribly satisfying. I am sure one of the reasons I always loved the Enid Blyton books was because of all the food that was spread out. I mean most of the Secret Seven’s started with an inventory of all they could eat at their latest meetings, the Famous Five’s though very dicey about the whole toiletries issues never lacked in food supplies and was there ever a St Claire’s semester when there wasn’t a midnight feast?

One of the quaintest books where book foods have been gone into is What Katy Did Next. She spends her time in England eating all the food that is described in books and surprise! Surprise! not all of it is good! However good or enticing it may sound- sausages pressed into gingerbread do not mouth watering make.

One really cool food book that I’ve got recently is Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential. For someone who’s grown up thinking that the genial Sanjeev Kappoor is the archetypical chef the transition to Bourdain’s life of sex drugs and well cookery can be something of a culture shock. His cast of chefs seem more suited to the Mafia than the kitchen, but the love for food and cooking – what matters most- is very evident. I am half way through, and it est good.

Last year, we, in the intrepid editorial board of our college’s rag tag magazine Writer’s Block, scouted the city’s streets and back alleys in search of good food on the excuse that we needed to fill the odd 600 word Restaurant Review column of our mostly monthly rag. Never again, do I think that I am going to be in the company of such, for whom the ability to ingest copious amounts of food is a matter of pride and honour.  Of course our original intention was not forgotten and we wrote about the food and though describing ‘Pancakes at Piccadilly’ in a profusion of food clichés is hardly the literary heights of food writing, it was extremely entertaining.

When I read our very own food reviews now, it’s weird how it’s not the food that I remember.  It’s the subtext that stands out clearly – the stuff we didn’t write about.–– Bhavna singing from the back seat of a mostly empty bus, waiting at a railway crossing for the longest goods train ever to pass, Anuj’s attempts to finish a kula of lassi in one go – the sad realisation that I must never ever be photographed with food ever again.

And suddenly I am glad, that my memories are all connected to food.

Gods Behaving Badly

I had a gift voucher from my B’day left to kill, and to foil the dastardly plan of my friend, who’d got me the gift voucher in the first place and had therefore thought she’d escaped from going gift searching for me, I dragged her along. Ended up spending over two hours rifling through books at Starmark, before I decided on buying this particular book.

The blurb on the cover page of Marie Phillips’ Gods Behaving Badly calls it ‘very very funny and delightfully original’. I wonder how many people buy books because of these blurbs. I mean, it can’t possible say something bad about the book, now can it? like for instance ‘A sad attempt at humour but kids these days they’ll lap it up anyways?’

Ah well, as for me – I picked it up because it seemed to be an attempt at bringing two of my favourite genres – mythology and urban fantasy together. Think about it, greek gods from the past living right across the street or jostling for space with you in a bus. You gotta admit, the idea has potential.

And I have to say, the book ain’t bad. It’s funny in parts, moves at a decent pace, and as a whole is a good read. I love Eros’ conflicting faith in Christianity, love that the mere presence of Ares is enough to stir trouble between two of the most saccharine sweet characters in the book, or even the fact that Apollo tries to break into stardom by acting in a third rate TV show, that specializes in foretelling the future happiness of old women and their cats. Sometimes when it hinted at the greater fears of the gods – about dying, about living forever in bad company, about being too inconspicuous in the modern world it showed real promise.

Then again, there is characterization that is so run of the mill – Aphrodite as the slutty conniving sexy goddess, Artemis as the  uptight goddess of hunting, Hades, Persephone etc etc who don’t seem to have picked up any character since the bygone eras. I am not saying that the intrinsic characteristics that the Greek myths present should be changed but surely they can be developed upon!  Then again, I am not quite sure I like it when she changes things around. for example, when she says that wisdom and clarity don’t go hand in hand when it comes to Athena (who basically is a twenty first century nerd) it doesn’t make sense. Isn’t the whole hoopla about wisdom that it’s about saying the right thing at the right time and being able to get it across which may not be found in intelligence? Weird.

The  human characters in the book Neil and Alice are terribly sweet and terribly in love which can get terribly boring after a while. I get it, you’re trying to show how the average sweet, nice human is just a pawn in the games of the gods, but give the average human some more credit. We aren’t all that nice!

The ending again is a little too concoted. ‘Faith keeps the gods going!’ the revelation lacks punch, it has been said before loads of time in a much better way (Go Read American Gods, Now.)Also, the author stops just when it gets a little more interesting and of course a whole lot more complex. Suddenly you have tons of people believing in the Greek gods again. Now what? Does the Church declare war?Do the aethists societies go dunk themselves? Do the Americans have Artemis endorse their right to carry arms stand? Do the Greeks charge royality for worshipping their gods? Okay, so my suppositions get crazier by the sentence, but that’s the point. I like endless possibilities at the end of a book, I do, but here it just seemed that the author knew she couldn’t tackle all the wacky possibilities and therefore left her readers with an open epilogue. It would have been awesome, I think, if the book had actually begun at its end point and worked its way through all the tangled compex problems that come with having a sudden renewal of mass scale faith in ambiguously intentioned gods.

I liked the book though, mainly because like I mentioned earlier – I love mythology and urban fantasy. Where else, I ask you, will you get to read the following sentence “I’ve got a god passed out on my kitchen floor and I think the world’s about to end”?  Nope. Nowhere else.  Also, I liked the book because it figured Greek gods who are some of my favourite gods; for I have always thought that if you actually believed in them, then you’d never be surprised when bad things happened coz you’ll realize that as gods they’ve got better things to do than bother about your temporary existence. Gives you a wondeful perpective on fate and stuff.

Also, for those interested in worship of Greek gods in modern times: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2006/may/05/greece

A Stirring (albiet late) Ramble on December Love, New Year Cheer? Hah! What Hogwash, & Lame Squad Among Other Things

Come Jan 4th, the snow on my Blog disappears for good and I wanted to write this post before that. I don’t know why they – the wordpress people- can’t let the snow stay (fall?) till late Jan; then again, I see it as one more of those inexplicable reasons why December stands out for me.

I Love December. Passionately. Completely. With all my heart. That’s right, I love… a month. This shouldn’t really come as a surprise. I have, after all, expressed my innate fondness for the Microsoft Office assistant cat, tea, words (my favourites at the moment being ‘Exquisite’ & ‘Slaughter’!) etc which are all borderline obsessive. A love for a month seems saner in some respects, especially when it comes with good reasons.

As any self obsessed kid/human being, my initial reasons for loving December centered on the one and most important fact:  My ‘Happy Birthday’ is in December! I was and continue to be extremely pleased with ‘my being’ and loving December – which bought me gifts and a day when I was fussed over more than usual- came naturally.

One of the earliest memories of my childhood (which is also one of my few early memories not directly connected to food) is that of come December my dad fiddling around with the Diwali lights, usually stowed away under the kitchen cabinet, which we would then put up around our house in Lucknow. They were meant to be Christmas + New Year decorations, but they invariably went up before my birthday, which I always took as a subtle yet obvious indicator of my own self importance! Did I mention I was self obsessed?

Out of the dozen or more schools I’ve been to, a few have been of the Convent variety. This entailed that come December, if you were in the lower grades, you were lined up and taken to the music room and taught to sing carols. By rote. Not that I minded, really. Because once you’ve sung your carols, and done the Christ is Born Play (I was always chosen as one of the Three Wise Kings!) you got to stay at home, for over two weeks! That’s right – Christmas Break! I spent most of that time, glued to the idiot box watching every single glitzy glatzy Christmas special that could be called forth, by the judicious use of a remote control. I loved them all – I loved each and every commercialised moment of it.

At home we usually had our very own fake Christmas tree with fake gifts – little matchboxes and soap boxes covered in decorative wrapping paper.  I never really believed in Santa but I always opened each and every soapbox and matchbox after the decorations came down hoping against hope for some sort of magical transformation. Never did happen (surprise, surprise) but I did it anyway.

I remember last year, before the whole ‘cusp debacle’, having a time pass discussion with a friend of mine on famous people born in the same zodiac as our inconsequential selves. Now my friend was clearly winning – throwing out one name after the other. I was generally wracking my brain for someone so famous, that he/ she would trump all her bigwigs.  Enlightenment hit a few moments later and I blurted out with unparalleled fervour: JESUS CHRIST WAS CAPRICORN!!! He was a freakin’ Capricorn! I won that argument hands down. (Though now that I think of it there are apparently some inaccuracies about his actual birth date and worse, my actual zodiac. Sigh.)

The point of these disconnected vignettes is to merely point out the obvious. I love this month and so, I should be excused from participating in the terribly traumatic end of December that New Year entails. Why, I fail to understand, does everyone count down the last year (and my dear poor month) with such visceral enjoyment?

The truth is, I think, that I am so determined that I must and should love this month that good stuff happens. My results when they come out bang on in the middle of December, turn out to be pretty well decent; being the first year that I am spending December away from home, my dad pays me a surprise visit; as a founding member of the Lame Squad (The Squad can be described at best being well – Lame and is open to membership to all those who can answer this profound question: What is the Lame Question?) I get the best Double Chocolate Truffle Cake possible from them!

A friend of mine, tired of my rhetoric question of ‘How can one not love December?’ told me during Christmas Brunch that she was forced to love the month as I would scream bloody murder otherwise. All I can say to that is ‘see? I seem to rub off December cheer even on people around me!’

I end this long rambling with a little reminder for next…this year. Around the end of this year say December, if you see a girl grinning like a maniac, and humming Christmas carols under her breath and looking way too pleased with life in general. Forgive her for her weird good cheer. You see, she is in love.

Connecting Imaginary Dots

It was the 8^th afternoon of the month of December. Slowly but surely, an entire class attending a lecture on Science, Technology and Law was being put to Death by Power Point. One brave individual, who rallied, was rewarded with a seemingly inconsequential piece of mindless information:

“The International Seabed Authority, under the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea 1982 , has a wing to spearhead exploration of the deep-sea bed. This wing is called the Enterprise.”

Perhaps one must congratulate her keen sense of observation. More likely, one must feel pity for the weird wiring in her head, which made this (un) necessary connection:

ENTERPRISE =

Ergo, Dude, some negotiator sitting at a top level UN Convention drafting meeting was a total Star Trek geek! OMG, V. Cool.

Even more appropriately, perhaps, one must pity the fact that in the sum total of the five lectures that day, this minuscule connection was the only thing that made her grin.

Four Reasons Why I Am An Astronout…Not

I was actually going to tell you about the joys of reading 5.0 years Prior Han Solo Adventures: At Star’s Ends, when one has eminent End Semester exams but crazy thought processes has expanded this modest post into a listing of the four weirdest popular culture reasons why I have ever taken time out of the self absorbed world that I live in and looked up at the stars to wonder.

Here goes:

4. LOST IN SPACE (THE 1960S SHOW)

I was in second grade, section A to be precise. Star Plus was still an English channel and didn’t have a single ‘K’ serial. It was a Science class and we had a teacher who was teaching us about the planets.

Me (interrupting her somewhere between Neptune and Pluto): Mam, How many planets has man landed on?

Teacher: what? None, of course

Me (still terribly sure): but in lost in sp…

Teacher: Don’t be stupid. Man has not landed on any planet. Now, moving on, Pluto is the 9^th pl…

Now, it wasn’t that I actually believed in Lost in Space! There were no talking robots; no way would a family be sent up in space; no way could there be so many hospitable panets were they could so easily land; as for aliens – pfft; all imaginative, of course. I wasn’t that stupid! But the point was, I kinda thought that man must have landed somewhere at least. Just like they did on the moon. Maybe, just one step and all that jazz.

But my Science Teacher got it right (except for the Pluto part of course) and I remember this as being one of the most formative experiences of my short life span – right up there with finding out that plants use both Carbon dioxide AND Oxygen and Disney Movies horribly distort the truth. Lost in Space was my first science fiction show and I remember it in a vague affectionate albeit irritated light. Why? I remember thinking, even back then, did the boy have all the adventures while the girl stayed back near their space ship and tended after their little alien gardens? Still it was, like I said, my first sci-fi show and it is still the first show that I think of every time I see the weird silver air-conditioning fittings in our college library; but that’s another story all together.

3. FARSCAPE 1999- 2003

Hands down. I LOVED this show. There were no super intelligent shades of blue, but there were super intelligent bald blue priestesses, there were cuter less irritating robotic bugs, a villain who lived in the hero’s head and had philosophical discussions with him and my god! A ship that reproduced…like got pregnant and gave birth and everything…

The storyline in itself was hardly unique. You take a reasonably good looking American guy with a father’s unfulfilled dream and let him fly an experimental space ship and you can bet my arse that Houston, there-will-be-a-problem and he’ll get lost and thrown in with a bunch of aliens. But the execution of the simple premise was done with such flair towards ensuring equal parts adventure, humour, ridiculousness and ensuing craziness that I cannot but love this show. In its heights, I had the Farscape font, knew the theme song dialogue by rote and would quote dialogue from the show and laugh at the normal people who didn’t get it.

2. TIE-IN BOOKS

I’ve never seen Star Trek…the original one that is and maybe because I’ve not seen that I’ve never actually watched the rest of its brood. But I know Star Trek, in a manner of speaking; read its lore. The awesome fan base for the show will scoff at my at best second hand knowledge for the show which springs from reading a little too many of its tie-in novels and loving them. Weirdly enough, I’ve found I like tie in novels of Star Trek, and the same now goes for the Star Wars ones that feature Han Solo (though I seem to exclusively like the ones before he actually meets Luke and the rest in the original movies.) This maybe because of my innate love for all types of fan fiction but I am always surprised that I like the Star Trek ones even though I’ve not seen the show

1. GATTACA -1997

Now this one is a lie. I just wanted to talk about it. Yes, It is a sci-fi movie; yes, the final destination is the space unknown (or Titan to be more precise) but the movie is, to put it at my corniest, about a lot more than that. I cannot talk about this movie without waxing ineloquently about it. I saw it when I was younger and it’s probably gonna stay with me all my life. Suffice, to say, you have to watch this movie and ‘to each his own’ be damned because you better not get back to me and tell me that you didn’t like it.

Horoscope – less or The Injustice Of It All Is Simply Impossible To Express Except With Exaggeration And Thus The Outrageousness Of It All

I am currently horoscope-less. Pause… No, this is not one of those thunder and lightning inducing moments.

For years, I have thought myself a Capricorn. I’d got comfortable with the idea of being one –they’re terribly witty (when they aren’t being terrible bores with their terribly conservative ways), extremely fun loving (when they aren’t wallowing in existential angst), and just the right amount of lucky (er…except when they are giving contracts viva, but that’s a tale better left alone).

All right so I know that zodiac is largely sham (surprise surprise) but it was nice, you know, when at the end of an extremely shitty day when you’re scanning the day’s paper and your eyes run over the day’s horoscope and there would be something quite vague but very interpretable such as ‘today you may be in for a disappointment but remember the winds of change though windy are ‘ um …er you get the drift, right?

If the weekly horoscope said that ‘the week was going to be super duper awesome,’ I would smile and shrug and say aha! and get on with life. If it said that the week was going to be awful, simply awful, then I’d smile and shrug and say ‘who believes in horoscopes anyways’ and continue to get on with life. But the point was, it was nice, having the horoscope there. And you have to admit; sometimes it rang more true than the day’s weather report.

Then a few days back, a chance remark about my birth date and a little jobless scouting online and I find that I am now stuck…Stuck being a Sagi-Capri cusp (cusp…I hate that word! It sounds like a word that started out just fine and was then abandoned in the middle. Pointing out the appropriateness of this, given its meaning, will not make it seem more charming.)

They don’t make horoscopes for cusps (gah! There’s the word again) and it is no use saying that you could read both the horoscopes because they seem to effectively cancel each other out. ‘The work will be good this week’ of the Capri is easily refuted by the Sag’s ‘are you kidding me! You suck at work, this week,’ note. No sooner do I get ‘a new friend’ thanks to my Sagi weekly horoscope, my Capri connection gleefully tells me ‘beware of any new friend. They’re all, foaming around the mouth, psychopaths.”

Worse, I am left with nothing to blame…not even my stars. No more can I put down the obviously lacking finesse way with which I deal with people with the generalised personality trait of a Capricorn’s unfeeling-ness. Nope – no preset personality type to fall back on. It’s all me…just me. Of course, it isn’t that one is not aware of this but one likes all the excuses that one can find and self induced comforting illusions are difficult…difficult to let go off.

As always I turn to Oscar Wilde (someone whose repository of one-liners would put any modern sitcom to shame) and use his eerie yet strangely comforting words to record yet another triviality of my life and give it a nice little bow-tied finish feel.

The secret of life is being able to appreciate being terribly terribly deceived.

even if it is self induced, eh?

You Know You’ve Been Staring At MS Word For Too Long When…

…You start writing poetry for the Office Assistant!

Fake cat, sleeping away on my windows’ screen,

On MS Word as I work and toil and sniffle unseen,

What do you dream when you sleep?

You sad excuse, for help in case of electronic need

I search and you pretend to write,

The page is blank as I can plainly see,

Your little pink tongue is held out in concentration,

Your yellow tail held erect as if ready for confrontation.

Press enter and you sit up as smug as you please,

The way you swirl your tail, you’d think you’d written a treatise.

I try, I really do, to tell you this isn’t what I was asking,

But you look at me as if within you are laughing,

At me, saying, I am after all only a cat!

What were you thinking?

You give me unhelpful hints,

and You scratch for every little thing!

My grammar’s good enough,

So stop criticising!

And I don’t care what you think,

You’re fake and a cat,

So stop trying to change my spelling!

And yet there are times,

As I work and toil and sniffle unseen,

And there has been too much tea and too little sleep.

So that, when you purr and stretch and give me a grin,

I am glad,

For, though fake, you still are a companion.

I know you don’t care,

That I dedicate this to you,

You’re happy just being a Microsoft tool.

But then again it is to be expected,

You’re a cat and cupboard love is, after all, intrinsic.

On Not Thinkin’ On My Laptop

I decided to write on paper the day I decided to quit writing on my laptop. That, of course, is not the right way of saying that. I guess what I should say, is that I decided to ‘think’ on paper the day I decided to quit thinking on my laptop. There, I’ve set myself up for countless snide remarks of ridicule.

As a kid I wrote on paper; in fact, I wrote almost exclusively on the reverse of my journal. (It was a ‘secret diary’ from ages 10 to 13; from ages 13-17 it was a ‘diary’; now, of course, in polite company I call it a journal.) If you flip my old journals and start reading from the back you will find copious amount of really bad literature. The key word to be noted being ‘copious’.

Over time I discovered the wonders of the electronic age – the word processor and I have been a sucker for it ever since. It helps that ‘once college happened’ I actually had a legitimate reason to be caught glued to my laptop, typing away like crazy. 15000 words, by tomorrow morning? No problem! Where’s my trusted laptop?

A lot of people I know can’t do this. They have to write ever last word down on paper before they can begin the painful task of typing it out on word. They say they can’t think on their laptops. (Yes, I made all the necessary snide remarks of ridicule.) I’ve also read articles were authors bemoan the loss of traditional joys of writing as more and more people turn to the word processor. Some even admitted that they were far more comfortable using paper.

Was I – a puny non entity who writes crap either ways in the face of honest admission by writers who had already proved their mettle and therefore could if they wish chose toilet paper as a medium if it caught their fancy and still get book deals – smug? You bet I was!

I had nice one lined thoughts on the issue which I filled away for future autobiographical reference. ( I do this, so that once I get famous I’ll have profound things to say.) ‘It’s so convenient!’ I would say with a wide fake smile as if I was on a tele-brand advertisement for the food processor.

The trouble began when I actually started believing the crap I thought up. (Do not point out the fallacies in the previous sentence; I am aware!)

I started believing that the neat and tidy 12 Georgia font-ed text that I produced on word was of far better ‘literary’ quality than higgly-piggly squiggle that I produced on paper. I started feeling unsatisfied with the finished product when I wrote on paper.

The A-Awful exam scared the living daylights out of me: Precisely because I couldn’t write! I had beautiful white blank paper before me and the words just didn’t come; Me…I, who could churn out ten pages in less than 30 minutes if really needed, couldn’t get my head to cooperate.

That is, I think, when I decided that I didn’t want to have these stupid mind blocks in my head that I can only write well on my laptop or that my thoughts don’t flow well on paper. I love writing and it shouldn’t matter where or how or on what!

That is the reason why I am reduced to copying out this text word for word from paper and let me tell you, my higgly- piggly squiggle has never looked more attactive.

And yeah, Snide remarks of Ridicule (I just love saying that)over my self obsession are as always welcome.