Thursday, November 18, 2004
On a high
Am a hopeless Morning Person at home, straight out of bed, but by the time I enter office, I'm a brand new improved singing-disco-dancing avatar whom every respectable person wants to lock up and feed the key to mice. I'm not sure what causes the change myself. Jaggu and Tarana on the radio, jibber-jabbering about so many nonsensical things; the pineapple jam sandwich, fortified with excess vitamins, that I consume each morning while listening to the jibber-jabber; the sight of my unconscious flattie on bed that presents such a sorry picture, so much so that I strive unconsciously to be as diametrically opposite as I can; or just plain, dumb hormones?
But here I am, floating on a high that is comparable to the flush you get after spending twenty minutes flirting with someone you have no occasion to know, or get to know. Anonymous flirting, which carries with it the promise of good things to come, but is separated from all the tangled webs that commitment necessarily brings along with it. Someone asked me the other day whether I was a Casanova, and I found the idea hilarious, and yet, my ideas of flirtation are, if nothing else, notorious.
Another thing I am notorious for is digression. And of course, talking to my computer. Minutes ago, I was chatting up my PC with all the charm of a college crush, and asking her why on earth I was talking to her - I'm going mad, I'm going mad, dammit, comp, why on earth am I going mad, but how would you know? you don't talk - only I talk - I talk all the time.
I think I'll blame it on the pineapple jam sandwiches after all.
Postscript: Though I love wheedling and needling, and whining incessantly, I love my life. I love me. I love me living my life. I do not like anybody else living my life. Which basically means I love me.
Postscript 2: I cannot type fast enough to give went to all that's in my head - and the world heaves a collective sigh of relief - see what I do for world unity?
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