Grrr..

Since a few days now, good writing has started grating on my nerves. I am suddenly unable to appreciate good writing. Actually, that’s not completely true. I love reading good stuff but my passion and ambition to write well has suddenly made this into some weird war of words. I love playing the violin but I am hardly ambitious about it. Sure, I dream that I’ll play at the Thyagaraaja Aradhana some day but that’s about where the dream ends. No concrete plans, no deadlines, no gradients… Whereas I’ve suddenly realised that I am ambitious about writing. It has moved away from being a form of expression to a ratable and markable one. One that stands out…. damn, I am drying up again.

Ok, I’ll stick to regular happenings. Days spent looking out at the golden sunshine lighting up all the leaves outside my bedroom door, Julie, the ridiculous film I watched with a friend (Neha Dhupia has a phenomenal body), Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Frasier Crane and his idiosyncrasies, not to mention his brother, Daphne and Ross’… Progresso canned soups, which I got to store up during the Ivan days, in case of black-outs is a bad choice. Now I have to finish up all the cans I got…:-(

So what’s new? Nothing much except that I have a fog in my head. Food simply does not seem tempting these days. It’s time I went home to Mummy’s food, I think. I could binge on home cooked food, I sure could. On second thoughts, getting this MBA wrangle out of my head would help too. Or a beach with white sands and nobody around where I could walk on and on and on… White and blue is a fabulous combo, isn’t it?

God, I am a total giveaway! If you didn’t get it, just read what I’ve written above and you’ll get a feel of what writing under *pressure* reads like… Over and out. Goodnight, amigos!