Pretense

Everything. Including this.

To write or not to write, that is the question. I chose to write. (Please note the past tense). But looking back, I wonder what... e-learning courses that nobody reads, leave alone learns (whoever said instructional design is teaching?), insipid poetry, this blog and another, and not much else...damn, how do I account for these three years of my life??

Ok, I'll break this up - what do I do in a day? (NB: List not exhaustive)

1. 4am: Get out of bed, turn on the music, go to the balcony, wait for the sun
2. 6am: Walk out for a cup of tea.
3. 6.30am: Office
4. 7am - 8pm: Work (On an average. On good days its 5pm, on bad its 10.30pm)
5. Get home (in 1.5 hours after exit from office, whenever that is)
6. Listen to loud music all night, play guitar if I'm in the mood, read 10 pages or an entire book...
Oh, go on long aimless walks...
Sleep - not much.

And in the middle of all this - obscure words emerge, and its very vagueness reveals all I want to hide...it shames me. So I thought a break from words, friends and all the things that matter to me would help. It didn't. Then I thought to bare my soul will be the perfect thing, for who believes what you write anyway? I'm telling you stories. You're the greater fool for reading all this trash.

When despondency seeps into words, its a deluge, there's no such thing as ebbing the flow. Except a fullstop. Like this. And other things. Try punching the wall, real hard, and then type. You'll see.