how to have a stroke or whatever you want to call it

Arre yaar. Just when I get happy, something has to happen.

Now something tells me that “has to happen” is a wrong phrase and perhaps one that only an Indian could use… But I cant be fuckin bothered because no body is fucking publishing me. And if and when they do, what the fuck are editors for?! AAARGH.

Sigh. Just in the middle of work, had no desire to post another one tonight, was working very happily and very satisfied, when I decided on a break and went and checked something and well… Now I feel like a fool all over again. And I am amazed at the number of times I feel that for a 28-year-old.

So I wrote a poem. Like a silly thing. Obviously not for myself. And for once for only one pair of eyes. For once something inwards and not fucking outwards. And well. So I went to mail it. And then I felt like a fool again.

And now. Well. My back is hurting, I have horrible cramps and feeling fucking cranky. To avoid giving in to that – since my eyes really hurt after that – I am typing, which is further hurting back. After this I have to go dash an email I have delayed by an evening and start writing tomorrow’s work. Which I asked for; after a long while. I really want to… stop writing and.

Well. Now I am feeling SO…gnaashhnngnashhn (teeth gnashing sound inside head) that. Fuck it. HERE is the fucking poem I wrote. It is my fucking idea of fucking romancing someone. I am such an ass. Each time. And I love making a fool of myself HERE on this sorry ass blog when I am trying to be a fucking idealistic there-aint-no-definition-for-that-kind-of-freak elsewhere. (I mean, WHAT was I thinking when I started THAT blog?! And ALL because of THAT fucking song. ARGH.)

Dude. I HAD never before thought to be a journalist BEFORE I heard of that course from a girl who lived next-door. Who is now an anchor in the channel (la di dah, too many details). AND because I was reading Sidney Sheldon’s ‘Sky Is Falling’ and the character called Dana Evans was a war correspondent. I loved her. And then I heard there was a course you could join. And thank god I did. (Still debating over what is journalism, but that one, some other tme).

Currently, am gonna go research on low bp. Cuz, never mind. Read this. And fuck had I sent it, I would have been so embarrassed.

In my teenage angst, here i mope
Like a silly kid with a silly hope

Waiting for that silken stroke
To tell myself, oh you silly bloke

Tis nothin' close to being a stroke
For it's only but a silly poke

PS; am an arsehole.
PS1: a poke is this tool on a social networking site, where you, well. nevermind.