Another sleepless night!

Einstein is showing his tongue and Che flashing a killer’s smile. There is no light as the tubelight has gone fusssssss.

What will tomorrow hold for me? This is my tiny world and my space and everything is just as I want it from the cushions to my slippers. Da Vinci was last Sunday and here is another weekend. No movies only work. Lots of work. Can work ever become a passion? I am not sure. Will I be good at it? Who is to say that and who will decide? Is the appreciation genuine or for the sake of it? Will I be ever understood? Will I understand what does that mean?

Is it important to be happy being urself? Overweight, pimples, falling hair, bad habits, junk food, loner bla bla. Is it right to only having this to say?

Is happiness an aberration? Is love and sensuality only buried in Neruda’s poems? What is the measure of having arrived? Why is life unfair? If I had been a dog would I be the submissive kind? Could I like be M, upright and uptight? Why can I not have a plane and fly away or have wings and fly like a kite. No I don’t want to be a kite. The string will always be in someone else’s hands.

Is it that big a deal to be old? Is it that difficult to find someone? And when you find that someone to discover that you are incompatible? Is there anything like incompatibility?

I am the intellectual types but I contribute to TOI’s Page 3 readership. Why? What will S say? I loved Midnight’s C and can’t finish Shalimar? Tomorrow when I wake up, hope its still nine.

Time to crash!

But how!