Oh! the smell of new books... Like they're inviting you into the world hidden in their pages... God, make me a printer, please...

Freedom, here I come. If SSM lets me stay awake, that is.

A couple of weeks is all it takes to create that feeling like you haven't spoke in years. And then you can have that amazing catching-up conversation. Wow, this feels good.

My Latest Theorem

To Prove:
Existence or non-existence of appendages on my right hand.

Given:
Right Hand, no feeling therein.

Proof:
Last night, post the paper, I could not feel my fingers. (1)
Tonight, post paper, again, I cannot feel my right hand. (2)

From (1) and (2), we can derive either

a) prolonged absence of fingers, or

b) absence of hand.

But Given existing right hand.

Ergo, existence of appendages on right hand can be disproved.

Grogginess

Okay. Let's just try to understand how this works. When people go to sleep, it takes a while to fall asleep. Okay? Got me so far? Right. You agree, even better.

Now, once asleep, when people wake up, after they open their eyes, they're not completely awake yet. There's this little sludgy feeling in their brains called grogginess. It's there for everyone. And for some it lasts longer than for others. Now it's very important to not treat this as hearsay (I see you shaking that head), because this really happens. And one must note, it's difficult to immediately engage in complex mental activities until such time as the brain clears itself. Hence, I most strongly urge you to GET OFF MY FRIGGIN' BACK!!!


Pinky, please note, seeing how I know you will ask, this is not directed at you.

Currently My Worst Nightmare - 2

I see an answer paper. It's a 10 mark question. And I've scored 9!!!! Is this real?? Of course not!

That, also, just has to be the time I wake up and realise with creeping horror that it wasn't even my answer paper.

The Gap - Part I

Thirteen floors up. The penthouse. The ‘pent’house. The pun wasn’t lost on her. The view out of her window was breathtaking. You could see the lawn, beautifully decorated by the city’s best landscape artist, the flowerbed in its geometric perfection. One lone dark-skinned man, looking the size of a cockroach from up here, watering it desolately. ‘That guy could do with company,’ she thought. The irony in that statement escaped her. Past the walls you could see the city expanding outwards. Spreading, sending its fingers searing along the landscape, growing. From this far up, even that was beautiful. Greens mixing with the dull grey of concrete and the pot pourri of colours the average modern city wore, fading away in the mist on the horizon. But she only saw one way. Straight down. ‘Naina!’ came the call, and this time it was louder and angrier than before. She sighed and closed the French window to follow the sound.

She loved the wooden floor. It made that sound when you walked on it. Beautiful, she called it. She walked the halls, letting her fingers run along the wall leaving wavy streaks uncovered by dust. She really loved this place. The way the windows every six feet let in so much sun. Brought those beautiful angles of light. The ones in which she could see little particles dancing without a care, blown this way and that, happy to just keep moving. ‘Who really cares about street noise?’ she thought as a car honked loud and long. She drew a little figure in the dust on the windowsill. A ballerina. Rough, but distinct. Clean lines. She was just about drawing the crown when she heard a baritone softly whisper into her ear, ‘Nicely done, Netu.’ She jumped, quickly erasing the sketch with her fingers.

It was beautifully crafted. Cupboards along the top, plug points under it. Wood panelled sunmica and ornate handles. Naina sat at her desk, books spread out before her. This stuff barely made any sense to her. ‘Why do I have to do this?’ she thought desperately. Sighing, she picked up her scale and pencil, measuring her page, marking out the centre and two other spots. She slid the ruler down an inch or so and repeated her markings. Then flipping it around, she drew three perfectly parallel lines down the page, dividing it into four. She picked up her earphones and plugged them in. Set her iPod to the song she wanted. This was the only thing that was going to keep her sane. He’s a real Nowhere man/Sitting in his Nowhere land rang in her ears as she filled in the headings ‘Liabilities’, ‘Rs.’, ‘Assets’, ‘Rs.’

Netra looked into her reference book. She was at her study table. Standard 90s metalwork office desk, complete with creaky drawers and cracked, pale grey-green paint. She'd asked for it. Thought it would look cool. ‘Why the hell do I have to do this? Why does it have to be so exact?’ Sighing, she picked up her pencil again. She held it about an inch off the point and held it against the image in the text. With her thumb, she held the measure for the thumb bone. Then, without losing the measure, she brought her hand to her page, marking off a point towards the bottom straight away. Then bringing her hand upwards, she brought her thumb level with the marking and made another one, and then repeated the action yet again. She released her grip on the pencil, reaching over to the computer to set the music playing. Help! I need somebody/Help! Not just anybody… her head bobbed in time with the music for a moment. Then looking into her text again, her head bent at an angle and she began to draw.





***Blogger's Note: I don't have the time to finish this right now, what with exams and all, but as they say, keep watching this space...***

Why Me???

I'm sorry. I'm back to this. And this isn't the happy 'why me'. It's the icky one. Really. Why????

Why can't people see what's so obvious? Why must we make assumptions where they aren't necessary??? Why can't a literary work just be taken to mean what it frikkin' says????

WHY????? WHY??????????????????????????????


Can I smash in my keyboard? Here I was thinking it'd be a nice gesture and shit, but no!!! You have to ruin it for me. Why? We really need to get around this love-hate thing.

Screwup

I'm genuinely asking here, do I really sound that condescending when I talk? I think I just realised it. I've made a BIG BIG BIG mistake. I've possibly lost the greatest ally to my cause. Gaaah! I hate myself. And pressure, but mostly myself.

If you must use air conditioners to sleep this summer, keep them on a temperature of around 26° C. That way,

1. your compressor doesn't switch on and off, saving power for the state and money for you.
2. when you leave the room, you don't have that icky feeling sticking to your skin that makes you want to strip in public.

Power conservation. Now an official theme on this blog? Scary thought.

Currently My Worst Nightmare

Store One:
Boss, give me a packet of Tang.
Sorry, we're all out of Tang.
Oh. Okay. Thank you.

Store Two:
Boss, can I get a packet of Tang?
My stock's finished, sir.
Oh. Crap. Thank you anyway.

Store Three:
Dude, do you have Tang?
Who's asking?
I am, duh.
Wrong answer.
What?
Nothing.
Do you have Tang?
Not anymore, I don't.

Walk back home, past Store Two:
Did you find Tang?
Nope, no one's got it.
I told you. They haven't brought around stock for a while.

Walking past Store One:
Psst...
Huh?
Psst...
Me?
Yeah, you.
Yes?
Get over here.
Yes?
You want Tang? I got some Tang.
Then why'd you say no before? I want some!
Yeah, it's going to cost you.
Obviously, I wasn't expecting to get it free...
Yeah, that'll be 5 lakhs for a half kg packet.
NOOOOOOO!!!!!!
*Wake up screaming*

Yes, I'm a serial chicken-shit. And yes, I have some ideals I'd rather uphold. I'm proud of both. Live with it. Take me as I am and all that crap...

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!

If they knew that April is the most auspicious time for weddings in the whole f@#$ing year, why the f@#$ would they put exams in it????

Come on, people, it's simple logic!!!!!

Oh! The agonies of volunteering to be left out. BMS, I officially hate you ten levels more.

Scary Shit

It is amazing the number of things in ordinary life that we take for granted. Just brush past them like they're inconsequential. Ignore how wondrous it is that some things happen, and how glorious it is that others don't. Like how we take for granted that a pressure cooker will work and not explode in our faces.