Not loud enough

Hakuna Matata

Sing with me please…I can’t hear it and the adrenaline and cortisol are pouring out of my ears.

Hakuna Matata.


A Sunday to breathe

Long post.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I have a temporary breather today, because of my own fault.  I had misunderstood the next deadline as being on December 14th and was beginning to panic, and realised that the deadline is only on December 19th.  I gain five full days.  So, I can take the rest of Sunday easy and relax.  After a really long time.

Another good thing I discovered was that the deadline after this one, is only on January 8th, and so I can enjoy the Christmas weekend with my friend who will be staying with me for a couple of days, without the nagging feeling of an impending deadline that I should be working on instead.  This friend visited me last year as well, and while I did get very tired at the end of the visit (I am an introvert; socialization tires me), and my first feeling was “oh no” when she said she would be visiting me, I rallied around.  She is a very good and affectionate person, and while she may rattle off nonstop, she means absolutely no harm.  Besides, I suspect that she is very stressed in her professional and family lives, and this visit is catharsis for her, and gives her the break she needs.  Always willing to oblige a friend.


I did someone a favor this past week, in the middle of my deadline-addled frenzy.  I get nothing, absolutely nothing, for it, and in fact, it was a little painful for me to do it (I hate it when I read other blogs where they say something cryptic without explaining – makes me want to throw my hand in the air and say “what the heck do you expect me to say if you are going to be all cloak and dagger about it?”, I plead guilty of the same crime).  Suffice to say that when I did this same favor a couple of years back, it sent me spiraling into an emotional tornado.  I did it again because I have, since the last time, recovered my poise; nevertheless, I felt a little disturbed; I still am, but nothing that I can’t handle.  You’d ask why the heck would I do something that I know would hurt me.  Sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do.   Some kind of weird karmic thing, I suppose. Besides, I am a nice person, even if I say so myself.

Wow, that must have been the first nice thing I have possibly ever said about myself .  Feels wrong.

On a related note.  This morning, I was so sick and tired of beating myself up about everything.  I decided that I would eat the lunch I cooked, pretending that someone else cooked it.  I actually thought it was pretty tasty. Had it really been someone else’s handiwork, I would have complimented them exuberantly.  Instead, to myself, I would say “hmm..could the morkuzambu do with one more crystal of salt?”.  Oh well.


I am almost at the end of “The end of the affair” by Graham Greene.  I just love it.  I need to write a review of it soon. I thought it was the “perfect book” until I reached the third part of the book, and I feel, well, it isn’t “perfect” but that’s ok to not be perfect.  The story for some reason, reminded me of Anna Karenina, another of my favorite novels.  Perhaps because of the underlying motif of intertwined polyamor and religion.

I have been noticing something funny with me.  When I like a book, I drag my feet towards the end.  I don’t want to complete it.  So, while I read the first parts like a maniac, I hem and haw as I approach the end.  Weird !


Have a good week ahead folks.

I’ve seen it all

While reading and rewriting a scientific document on the fabrication of bioplastics by crosslinking of the protein chains of gluten, originally written by a new recruit at my client’s office, I see the use of “r” instead of “are”.

I think I am ready to roll over and die.

Sign of life

I am alive.  Just drowning in work.

And I just fell in love with Graham Greene.  “Pain is easy to write. In pain we’re all happily individual. But what can one write about happiness?”  Oh my !

Have a good rest-of-the-week.

Why is it Friday already?

Deadlines after deadlines have been engulfing me this week like transition pains in labor.  Not that I am complaining – no other time am I as alive as when I am completely into my document, learning new things and finding new ideas take shape as words flow off my fingers.  I still have a long way to go, but so far, the body has been keeping up with the intention.  Somewhere in the middle of next week, one or the other would give, and I would need a break. But for now, if you see a blur of action in this part of the globe, you are seeing gobblefunkist in full form.

The only thing that takes a beating is this blog.  When the technical words are not gushing out of my ears, there is a deluge of thoughts that need out here but a human day has only so many hours and given that I also need to sleep, eat, poop, pee and take care of domestic chores (in that order of importance), I am so far behind here that you need a telescope to see me.

This is just an interim post to say – I am alive, well and kicking the butt of deadlines as of now.  Be on standby when the crash comes, that’s when this blog would blare like a foghorn for your attention.

Have a good weekend….

The thought vortex

First, I awoke early (not ungodly early, but much earlier than my usual time) today for the second time in a row.  Feel good.  Tomorrow I will have to wake at 4 to catch a 6.30 flight.  I am traveling for a bereavement, but am inappropriately excited because I will be meeting cousins after nearly a decade.  That’s that w.r.t. routine.

Having extra time this morning to do whatever I wanted, I perused my reader.  I stumbled upon two posts that spoke to me.  I am not linking them because of my own privacy issues, but the crux of one of the two posts is as follows:

My favourite mommy-blogger writes about how we can be compassionate to others having the faults over which we beat ourselves black and blue .  I had written a post on this earlier (tried searching for it, but couldn’t find it in the jungle of uncategorized and disorganized posts) about how, when other people do the same things I do, I see them in positive light and my own actions, whatever they be, are always seen with a hypercritical eyeball.  The post I read resonated with me, especially in the mood I am in (continue reading, I dare you).

My guest visited for half an hour yesterday and we chatted over coffee.  I use the word “chatted” rather loosely. I wasn’t a chatter as much as a chattee.  Which is fine.  I am not much of a talker, and if the other party can hold a passionate conversation on her own, nothing better, what?  She is a wonderful person, but I was stressed around her as always- she is unbelievably perfect, and in my younger days, I’d often try to emulate her and fail miserably.  I don’t anymore,  I have come to terms with my own imperfections even if I have not quite embraced them yet – have you seen the welts on my figurative back?  Yes, I can’t hold an interesting conversation, yes; I am not doing gazillion things efficiently; yes, I am not attractive – I am what I am.  Yet, yesterday as she sat across the table rattling off nonstop, I felt exhausted and for hours after she left, I stayed disturbed.  When I went to bed last night, I realised with a shock that my fists had been held tightly clenched all day.  Will I ever accept myself unconditionally?  My eyes well up as I type the last line.

Another question I have is this.  Some of you have been reading my blog for many years. You know that I have no dearth of words in this blog and can spew them continuously until something gives.  Yet, why is it that I can’t talk to people?  Beyond the fist few minutes of greetings, I am at a complete loss.  When I say complete loss, I mean absolute loss…abject loss.  I know people who are, in general quiet – I have a cousin who is worse than I am, she can’t even make the first few minutes of greetings, but she does not write either, and communication is not her forte. The written word is like oxygen to me – I must communicate.  Yet, the cat gets my tongue when I have to talk.  Pretty disgusted with myself, I say.

There was one other post on my reader, which hit me right between my eyebrows. I can’t even bring myself to write about it yet because it hits too close home and while I do wash dirty linen out here, the linen that this thought involves is too filthy.

And with that, ignoring the irony, I wish you peeps a lovely weekend.