Field Trails..

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near..


I am somewhere in those woods, lovely, dark and deep, fascinated by them. There is no farmhouse anywhere in sight and somewhere inside I am wondering thatthat what is the significance of these woods, of their beauty in all its vivid, vibrant, varying shades in the miles I am going to cover before I sleep? Am I at a pitstop? Is it like one of those experiences in life which are so brief, without any precedence and without a trail behind that they could as well have been a dream, a false memory?

What if this is what life is going to be like.. a long tedious journey with a few pitstops thrown in between? Conversely, what if life is in these little pitstops scattered on the continuum of long tedious journeys?

Since I don't have an answer yet and since the probability could be 50-50, I am in no position to disrespect either the pitstops or the tedious journeys... and therefore, those little digressions, those little trails followed perpendicular to the highway are every bit as important as the highway..

Everything!

I can be an asshole of the grandest kind
I can withhold like it�s going out of style
I can be the moodiest baby and you�ve never met anyone
who is as negative as I am sometimes

I am the wisest woman you've ever met.
I am the kindest soul with whom you've connected.
I have the bravest heart that you've ever seen
And you've never met anyone
Who's as positive as I am sometimes.

You see everything, you see every part
You see all my light and you love my dark
You dig everything of which I'm ashamed
There's not anything to which you can�t relate
And you�re still here

I blame everyone else, not my own partaking
My passive-aggressiveness can be devastating
I'm terrified and mistrusting
And you've never met anyone as,
As closed down as I am sometimes.

You see everything, you see every part
You see all my light and you love my dark
You dig everything of which I'm ashamed
There's not anything to which you can�t relate
And you�re still here

What I resist, persists, and speaks louder than I know
What I resist, you love, no matter how low or high I go

I'm the funniest woman you've ever known.
I am the dullest woman you've ever known.
I'm the most gorgeous woman you've ever known
And you've never met anyone as, as everything as I am sometimes.

You see everything, you see every part
You see all my light and you love my dark
You dig everything of which I'm ashamed
There's not anything to which you can�t relate
And you're still here

And you're still here
And you're still here...

Everything
Alanis Morissette

It just takes a beautiful song to make your day. The smoothest subtlest transition of a straight line into a concave curve causing a little depression to form further up along the farthest tangent..a little moment of bliss.. pure unadulterated..

Losing my virginity

It took a laptop to stop working and a mobile to be stolen within a span of 12 hours for my eyes and brain to register the significance of money. When after spending 1k on laptop repair and over 1k on "partying" I lost my phone, I realized I didn't have enough balance in my account to buy even the cheapest phone and there were still over 10 days for my first salary to come, which, by the way, would be a meagre sum, I woke up to the reality of cash flows and balance sheets, losing my financial virginity, at last. I never imagined I'd ever be in such a situation where I would have to think of ways to get a phone without having to pay for it and do anything to avoid eating out, spending on auto. Waiting for the bus in the scorching heat became an inevitable reality. It has hardened and weakened me at the same time. Sometimes tears would suddenly blur my vision while waiting for a bus, craning my neck every single time a bus passed in the hope to see the number of the bus I had to take. Sometimes a clould would just form over my mind and bring haunting memories of every single misfortune. I'd be scared to the core of my being, freeze, wondering if every action was futile and if I was just a toy in the hands of destiny. If everything is written then I have probably been written off, an object of ridicule playing in the hands of destiny, a figment of someone else's imagination, a mere character in another's fantasy. I feel powerless.

ps Many incidents have been exaggerated to give a certain poignant effect to the post. With a drop of water and a speck of dust, I created a mire for myself to wallow. A part of me enjoys it as much as a buffalo enjoys wallowing in muddy water on a warm sunny day :).

pps: Hence I coin the term: Victim's pride (surprised, something like this hasn't been recognized yet)