Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight 'til it be tomorrow.

The wind's been knocked out of me. The old crone chuckles, saying she told me so. You'll be back my dear, and you'll be needing my medicine. I swear I thought it was something special. I swear I fell right into love. The old crone told me to chill. Not to call. Not to take leaps of faith. I wanted to spend every minute with you, cuddling, kissing, coddling, making love, making plans. I will never understand why you didn't call, why you left without saying goodbye. I know I will try to rack my brains to figure out what I did wrong. I know I will tell myself to keep loving you, because there's a chance that we meet when you come back. I know I will blame myself in the end, and wait, hope, its just 2 months more. But the crone tells me that my heart will break again. She tells me to move on, bury myself in a book, channel my emotions into something concrete. I want to sing about love like the little mermaid, give up everything and be a fool, go far away, just to be abandoned. I want to be tender, you softened me, but I have have to harden myself, says the crone. Tough times.

Another roller coaster ride. Emotional  highs and lows. Mind trying to control events, mind trying to control mind. Once again. What can one do to be pragmatic about this process? How does one remain detached? Read pop psychology? Smoke cigarettes? Write a blog entry? All of the above. At such times I realize I am all alone. Is he all alone? As usual, I thought we connected. Then something happened on that one day. Is the thrill gone? You make excuses, you have a week to plan for yourself, you feel slighted, taken for granted. Again. You wonder if you did anything wrong. Maybe. You plan. Strategize. Save yourself. Protect your precious ego. You don't understand. You can't understand. You feel like an idiot. And then learn to play the saxophone all over again.

shouldn't you have something better to do than some boy?

I feel like I am becoming a machine in the hands of something bigger. A tool. A creative tool, my body is hot, my mind is blank and my dreams are blending into my days.

I hit a brick wall. I should stop hitting myself against a brick wall.

I have so much angst. I am just full of complaints about everything. India, men, my parents, my exes, my job, my mother, my younger sister, my 20 year old fuck buddies, the gossiping brats. People, their looks, their smothering love, their opinions.

This guy, touches me, gives me hugs, treats me like a woman and then expects me to not want to have sex with him. He is a guy's guy after all. stop obsessing over him you idiot.

I feel like I am going through a sickness. My entire body is hot. I have been smoking weed. Should not be. Please stop smoking weed. Thats enough. I just want to chill the fuck out.

my parents display a certain characteristic of the rich. arrogance. a sense of entitlement. like the maidservant need not celebrate ganesha chaturthi, and has to be home early for our puja. my mother has the demeanour of a queen. she is a true beauty, by any standards. she had fair skin, and to many in her land that would be a good enough characteristic of beauty.

Never Be Formulaic

Always Question the Prevailing Rhetoric

Never Bow

Be Strong

You were born for this

i am a chauvinist as far as science goes. Biology is just classification and pure mathematics is pedantic.

Physics is awesome. And Chemistry. Heat, Energy, Thermodynamics. You can understand the world by following the flows of energy.