Bugger off, I want.

Oh hello. Have been writing all day, all over that is. Official story, started another story, wrote some random half-posts that I will go back to another day. And through it all, two thoughts stay: 1. I want a vacation 2. I don’t want to think, at all.

Hmm. On second thoughts...I don’t want to write on those lines. Because now that I am counting, there are more than two things I want...

Vacation: Lazing around, food when I want it, no phone calls, no dogs, no one. Feet up, arms behind my head and feeling the breeze through whatever flimsy garment I am wearing. NO Internet. If there is a typing device around, I will type. And not a single face I know.

Crazy fling: It sizzles from the toes to the top of my head and comes out of the ears. I want a head rush. The kind that makes you wait for phone calls, crave to see the other, want to touch. AND I want to know that it WON’T lead to anything and I want to know exactly when it would get over… so that till I am in it, I have a complete blast. Without thinking of the finale.

Body Feel Over: And no, I don’t mean a massage. I want my skin…felt. Nothing else, just felt.

Body creaking massage: Ah yes. Head banging is very bad for your neck and mine feels as if it has had a sledgehammer going at it. Would love a massage that makes me groan and cry and after it’s over, I pass out. AH. Aaaaaaaaah. The thought of it is so… releasing. And yes, I do mean a massage.

Obsession: Yeah, somehow nothing ‘gets’ me these days. If anything proves difficult or tough, I just walk.

Role model: I realized that I don’t have anyone I idolize or feel any sort of reverence for. And well, it’s worrying that I find it tough to find any ‘guru’.

Big Break: something out of the blue that pays like crazy. Say a movie role. Hah.

Ending of The Story: Just that, ending of The Story.

Thick skin: I SO want to walk away from SO many things. BUT. Hmm. Am gonna.

Stronger nails: Mine just fuckin’ keep breaking away. I finish at least a litre of milk in a day – yes I do – and YET, my nails are weak. At times I do feel that if snapped hard enough, my bones would go too. They just feel very light.

Slavery: Oh yes. I want someone to control me…rather be ABLE to. Someone smarter than me who takes all the decisions, tells me what to do, takes command, has spine and basically wraps me around his little finger. Trouble is, all that happens when I MAKE myself do so. And not because the person can. I want that someone to do it to me…without me liking it. Doesn’t happen you see. I just got more balls. Sigh. Yeah, a man with balls. Bigger than mine. (and no, this does not mean friend requests: THINK about it, if I have not found someone around me, fat chance that someone random on the Net is going to work out)

A gun: Yup, want one. Carlos the Jackal’s gun. Meant for snipers.

A knife: Should be serrated, something I can strap to my thigh. I can use it. I wouldn’t mind one of those retractable blade ones; and while we are at it, handcuffs too. :)

Learn two kicks: One hard one in the groin, the other right below the chin. Practice those, one-fuckin-kick knock-outs that make Mikey proud.

Elope: With myself. Just FORCE myself to leave this city and its people and move. Far away. Far, far, far fucking far away. Change my name, call myself Mrs Dalloway and then fuck everyone’s happiness anonymously. No particular reason for doing that, just want to.

Bitch Fest: Yes, I want my conscience to die. THEN, I will talk. Ah.

End of ennui: I can’t tell you HOW bored I am. I do this and that, and yet. It’s the same old, same old.

Shrug.

PS: Those who write in saying, “Oh you don’t talk” and “I leave comments but you don’t make friends”…. LISTEN up. DID I post my fucking blog IN your inbox? Nope. You CAME here, read and left. Stick to that.

WHY should I make friends with you? WHO are you? WHAT are you?

For those who think I am always writing, Yes, I am. And what makes you think you can fucking buzz me WHENEVER you want and start chatting on whatever? And DUDE, those who think that I am going to start sharing my inner-most secrets etc…Scoff. I have a blog to assuage my self-importance.

This is for those who start sending nasty mails when friendship requests are denied or when random e-mails are not responded to. Let me tell you one thing: WHEN I am remotely interested in a person, I make it very clear. So if despite adding you, I am Not talking: Take it as a sign, go look elsewhere.

And please, “So what’s happening?” is not my idea of a scintillating conversation. Darling, please, I hate being brain dead. And most such emails do just that to me: Kill my grey cells. If the cost of NOT being friends with you is that you won’t read my blog… DON’T. I didn’t seek your approval or persmission when starting this blog, I don’t need it now.
UFFFFFFF. I want OUT.

I REALLY want to BEAT the CRAP out of someone. Anyone! And given my size, that's sure gonna happen. Grim.