…and I have more than one Goldilocks in my house.
It’s weird going home to a house that you’ve always prided on being empty and find a few strangers lurking around. I have never been one for socializing (remember, I am the fencesitter here) so it’s kind of awkward to be walking around knowing that there are a few yellow colored eyes following your every move.
Still, one must roll with the punches and pretend that nothing has upset the balance of tranquility that I’m used to having. I must have been stoned to high heavens when I wrote that blasted article a couple of weeks back. But no matter, what’s done is done and I can only look forward to the future. Hopefully once the controversy has died down, I’d be able to return to my usual humdrum existence.
My teenage hero Doogie Howser, MD the very first blogger (I think) is now more popular as Barney Stinson(How I Met Your Mother), he of the Bro Code and all that. But I can still remember how much I enjoyed that show and how, every night, he would write in his electronic journal his thoughts and the things that somehow changed his view of the world. I couldn’t afford a computer then so I followed his example by keeping volumes and volumes of journals, something that my mother used to read and needle me about.
I used to love poetry as well but they were more of baits rather than anything else. Baits for what? That I’m not prepared to answer.
It’s funny how quickly this post has turned introspective though I am feeling that at the moment. After a DVD marathon last night that started at 8pm until the wee hours of the morning, I still ask myself what happened to my dream of enrolling in a creative writing course in UP. I guess practicality has kept me rooted to the ground. FUCK practicality though, I would be happier discussing some crazy author’s suicide more than anything. But, the die has been cast and I will have to live with the lot that I find myself now.
I took out my Rilke copy (Letters To A Young Poet) last night in between screenings and I remembered my own correspondences with somebody a few years back. I no longer have any contact with that person and I wonder what that guy is up to. No good, most probably.
It seems, my own solitude has served me really well, except for some bouts of schizophrenia every now and then. Watching movies or having lunches by my lonesome seems really, really natural now. Not that it bothered me in the least bit before, despite my colleagues’ raised eyebrows.
It’s still a source of wonder for me how some people can’t seem to do that. I see office mates and friends panicking whenever they find themselves alone and without a pal to go to lunch or to dinner with. It’s insane how much lengths people would go to just to be ‘not’ alone– a concept that’s as natural to me as breathing.
But then again I am a wanker so what the hell do I know.
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