Thursday, April 24, 2008

It's 7 today, and I'm not feeling any better if you ask. But if it weren't for Sir Carlsberg wisdom last evening, I would've been foul the entire night. Really this rut is just brilliant -- it's like a prison. You become institutionalised in days. More people join -- sloppy of course. They got to start from somewhere.
I'm waiting for Marquez to get over now. Really. The book's wonderful but it'll always a map period in my life where I felt like Florentino Ariza. My life almost ran parallel to the plot. It just that Marquez's years took about that long for me in days as I suffered and I fell. And now it's difficult but I think away.
Of course to even feel oppressed was comforting. It's like being swallowed in a roomful of rose petals -- and when you die, you at least mutter to yourself about how it at least smelt nice.
Sometimes you can tell -- sometimes you're not meant to. It's not your role, not your lines -- you're just an actor with someone else's script.
Anyway fuck that.
Watched the match last night: Barca Vs Man U while on the shift. The Red Herring was too rooting for Barca -- and even though the match sort of fell in no one's favour. It was good to jump around and feel like I have some life.
Back's been hurting, the paracetamol worked the mind and everything was wrapped. Now I need to head back for my fractured sleep.


Blogger Aaki said...

the job doesn't suit you, jai, so why not leave it?

10:29 AM, April 24, 2008  
Blogger Garima said...

Love in the time of cholera does give a sort of impression where one seems to be in a weakening mess forever. But you, unlike Ariza, have the option of opting out of the 'rut'.

7:25 PM, April 27, 2008  

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