It's funny. The fact that I do open up blogger and type in a few words and then close the window altogether because I have some other work to attend to. What would it take, how much of my time would be wasted if I just exercised my typing and puny writing skills just a bit? But this momentary stop to read through what I have already typed becomes, literally, my undoing as I hit the backspace key and conveniently forget releasing it till there’s nothing but a blank screen staring, blinking back at me…whoa! What happened here, it seems to say. It’s strange this mood, this feeling and existence I seem to have taken recently. As if I live day to day…I live towards 10 pm each day/night which is the time when I would retire with a book and eventually drift into sleep in half an hour, with a book and the lights still on. And then I sleep like a log before beating my cell phone alarm to wake up. And then I wait for the alarm to ring and hit it shut with a glee with the first peep of sound from it. Then I proceed to sleep, or pretend to, for another 15 minutes. What is it about growing up that you don’t have parents waking you up any more, checking up on you every few minutes to see if you are actually up and ready to start the day. What is with growing up that means you have to think so much that all senses get numbed? What is it with growing up and apart from your family? What is it with the pile of expectations heaping itself on you with each passing growing, gnawing day? What is it with a sense of hopelessness that sets on you when you set unachievable goals for you and slink into despondency when you haven’t met them by the end of the day? What is it with all this nonsense anyways? Update and that’s it. Just as we live because we have to and nothing else? What is it? Questions and no answers? Or answers and then a crazy search for the right questions? What is it? What is it with me?
