anger

It is anger that drives me nuts. Anger at the traffic, the noisy people and all the violence that permeates the air all the time. I both love and hate people, need and shun them, living in bangalore is a tiresome balancing act. The people are boring and dumb. Some are smart. SP road is zen. Or not, I am either in it completely or completely out of it. I love it and hate it. Did I say that already? I dont know what I need really, to complete things around here, to make it sustainable. The noise is all-ways- there. There is no getting away from it. Yoga helps, imagine what would happen to me if I did not do yoga. I need to get out of the city from time to time. I need to able able to not listen to the people who mean me harm, or try to minimize time with them, and when I meet them, be compassionate rather than defensive. Maybe that humbles them into being better people. Sigh, all the time I try to look for a solution to a sustainable living in this tiring and boring city.  Sleep at 9 and wake at 4? Its worth a try. For a start, how about two weeks of No smoking, sleep at 9 and wake at four, mindful yoga in the morning and a social commitment in the evening?

Come on. Its worth a try.

Serial monogamy was not the way of the times. Most people around her were married, whether happy or not, who knew. Her parents wanted her to get married. Her mother let her be, her father could not understand. He had no faith, trust or whatever it took to just let go and let her take care of herself. Nobody did. Perhaps it was because she was a little strange and unusual. They felt that she would not put things in words that the majority could understand. She fought many little fights to get to that stage. She had no idea why. She was definitely a rebel with absolutely no cause at all, but to fight, every little fight.

Many men had come her way. They were all intense periods of love and learning. her body was her own, she learned to have sex without guilt and be grateful for all the love she got. Sometimes she was tired and sick of herself, but she could not bring herself to apologize for a biological urge.

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.