Flipping through webpages of intrigue,
pages with words of love, hate, romeo and juliet
I wondered propels or prompts me to write?
is it sheer boredom?
a willingness to see how efficient i still am at expressing myself ?
proving a point to someone?
reacting to someone's writing / blog / incident whether personal or otherwise ?
I keep coming up with newer ones newer reasons, newer justifications.
yes justifications is closer to the truth than reasons.
I do not have reasons to write, it seems.
Sad, but honest to self.
And yet justifications are abundant.
Flitting through the innumerous social networking sites
the only thing i ended up doing was to realise how my peers / friends are faring in life.
Reading blogs gives a more personal insight into a few more people's live's...
So here is a list of things i felt through this week's net surfing:
I figured this week, that my first crush has married and i'm still shy to speak to her
I figured that most of friends from school have ended up as techies and are either married/ getting married or to busy working to bother
I figured that i am so bored with myself that weekends are better slept off than stay awake.
Figured that i have nothing figured out in life and am not even getting there...
Figured that IM meant more than instant messenger, and that so many of our own youth are are so hurt and so disillusioned that educated and savvy that they are, they use their skills to trigger more than 6 bombs in the last fortnight at the heart of our country's capital.
figured that optimism isnt a positive thing its a disease
Figured that no matter what i say or proclaim
The I in me always gets centrestage
I figured that i had had enough of writing help files for an alien software (at least for the time being) and finally accepted that i have to move on proffessionally.
I figured that my inability to figure out what i want from / in life is creating havoc in so many people's lives.
I figured that i have to vent my angst out, every now and then, lest it numbs me so, that it doesnt matter anymore.
I need it to matter, my private angst to fuel something, even if its in the form of senseless mumblings like this.
pages with words of love, hate, romeo and juliet
I wondered propels or prompts me to write?
is it sheer boredom?
a willingness to see how efficient i still am at expressing myself ?
proving a point to someone?
reacting to someone's writing / blog / incident whether personal or otherwise ?
I keep coming up with newer ones newer reasons, newer justifications.
yes justifications is closer to the truth than reasons.
I do not have reasons to write, it seems.
Sad, but honest to self.
And yet justifications are abundant.
Flitting through the innumerous social networking sites
the only thing i ended up doing was to realise how my peers / friends are faring in life.
Reading blogs gives a more personal insight into a few more people's live's...
So here is a list of things i felt through this week's net surfing:
I figured this week, that my first crush has married and i'm still shy to speak to her
I figured that most of friends from school have ended up as techies and are either married/ getting married or to busy working to bother
I figured that i am so bored with myself that weekends are better slept off than stay awake.
Figured that i have nothing figured out in life and am not even getting there...
Figured that IM meant more than instant messenger, and that so many of our own youth are are so hurt and so disillusioned that educated and savvy that they are, they use their skills to trigger more than 6 bombs in the last fortnight at the heart of our country's capital.
figured that optimism isnt a positive thing its a disease
Figured that no matter what i say or proclaim
The I in me always gets centrestage
I figured that i had had enough of writing help files for an alien software (at least for the time being) and finally accepted that i have to move on proffessionally.
I figured that my inability to figure out what i want from / in life is creating havoc in so many people's lives.
I figured that i have to vent my angst out, every now and then, lest it numbs me so, that it doesnt matter anymore.
I need it to matter, my private angst to fuel something, even if its in the form of senseless mumblings like this.
