I had given up on blogging.
Just as I had given up on - wearing that Astro suit (i was persuaded into believing i might be a tad too brilliant for it), working for google (and what a loss to humanity must this be) and scoring on a certain variety of women(this one's as fresh as yesterday). Besides giving up on being an investment banker (yup the term still exists in dictionaries), dating an "in her thirties" Pamela Anderson (but boy, I'd kill for that date even when she's a corpse) and Quentin Tarantino.
But then this is such an age for giving up (yes i turned an inglourious 24). This is when you go helpless with crossing out and desperate with ticking in.
Thankfully though, blogging doesn't give up on you. Every now and then it throws up an amateur plagiarist, a self-proclaimed dumbass or a puny poet and you realize all the cool guys are outta business. Thats when you think up a smartass title for your next could've been a post, you germinate two earnest sentences before you give-in to your social networking obligations or ping that girl you've only just started stalking, that'll be it then for uptill the weekend.. the weekend that'd never be.
Unless ofcourse you happen to be travelling lucknow to delhi over the weekend, sitting besides a bearded crook of a guy and the only women in your compartment are either burqa clad or have sagging breasts.
If by divine inervention you've exhausted your laptop's battery, have just finished reading Jeremy Clarkson and can find the back of a ticket and a reynolds, well you've struck the right recipie for revival.
So, what'd you cook?
Its been ages since you've had views on anything terrestrial.
Being a single bachelor you've lived your life in those lunch table discussions restricted to cussing 'you've got more potential' bosses or 'we'd set you straight' proffs.
And, those coffee table deliberations ranging from your opposite sex preferences to opposite sex's appalling lack of preferences.
Besides those beer table arguments where the nation's greatest grouse is the now irreparable smart guys to passable girls ratio and where every unboyfriended girl epitomises whoredom.
Your favourite movie flavours has meagered to such solelessly remarkable flicks as Zombieland and District9 and you barely have a favorite tv show or sport anymore for either an overkill or want of them.
Socio-Politico-Economical contemplations!...well, they've never been your sphere of influence. You may attempt musing on the past, cribbing about the present and going all hunky-dory for the future; but the Theory of Insignificance retorts you into retiring.
Yes there've been long fantasy phone calls but they make up only or embarrassing phone bills unless you're yet to move on from that black swan of a relationship.
Your life then has arguably been irreverent and there are no holes you can hope to plug over a blog. You see right through the happyness illusion. Your spiritual and material lives are incoherently disconcerted.
You are, every bit of you, an Evidence of the 'Quarter-Life crisis'
So what'd you cook?
Bullshit!
But thats exactly what you've managed in the past hour...some pretty unimaginative bullshit.
P.S. - Feel the post touched something in you, perhaps so would this
