oh please let's just be (ir)rational about this and intellectualize everything, for fuck's sake. i mean that's how you go about life, isn't it?
a half bottle of chardonnay and several slices of cheese down, followed by some sort of brown mush that came in a microwaveable bag that claims to be punjabi eggplant curry. internlife ftw, no?
just when you're floating around blissfully, you get shot down by some perspective. dear face, say hello to ground. it's been a while.

also: if you guys see this, congratulations to speedpost and buchu for a probable-two year anniversary. i mean congratulations are definitely in order for buchu managing not to mess this up, and speedpost managing to bear with. okay, enough mush. may you waste some time for many more years to come.

I want to write but all I can seem to write in my head is "boobs boobs boobs". Not terribly profound.
I have been drinking Chardonnay and eating cheese. I slept almost all of today. I'm having a really great hair day in a swanky studio apartment. I finally moved off the sofa onto the air mattress behind the cabinets. Full set up it is only. And now I have windows that span half the wall next to my bed, morning light waking me up makes for a very contented Riddhi.

Listening to trip hop and thinking "oh shite, oh shite". Life, plij do not go to the dogs, I beg you. Being homeless and poor will not suit me. I need books and things, and I eat far too much to be happy with grits and gruel.

I am restless today. My mind is dancing on foreign shores somewhere. I want to go travelling. A friend who had come to stay left yesterday and there is a missing-ness in the air.

Greece
Rome
Banaras

I do not feel like going to New York anymore, I don't know why. 

Jumble

life is doing a 'moon river' right now. in a jumble: pancakes were given and eaten. with blueberries and strawberries and maple syrup as accompaniment. breakfast at tiffany's, and morning glory were watched. new lab manager is an adele lookalike and likes to bake for fun. she brought in a bundt cake two days ago, and her attempt at jaffa cakes with white chocolate and bitter chocolate and bits of orange jelly. boss (henceforth known as Dean) turns around to see my mouth smeared with chocolate and one grubby hand in the ziplock bag full of crumbs. he's too amused to be disapproving.

i had one of those discussions with Dean that you could label "deep". we talked about religion and god, and sentences like "because i know that god sees me, and i am loved" were said unironically. by a near 7 foot tall man who's known to reply to "i have a question" with "i have an answer". people surprise you. they continually surprise me, at least. i told him about getting inked soon, and he told me about his brother who's a chef and all tatted up. i was expecting judgement and condemnation. instead i got mild ribbing, and genuine respect. #whatthefuck.

i perform western blots and cry over them till hallelujah happens. only half a hallelujah though. i eat-drink lots of bread and soup, and fry salmon and eat it cold over the granite kitchen counter, standing up. first boston sleepover happens, homecoming minus the sex. sex does not happen- i'm sorry, vagina. i seem to have developed a penchant for the word "vagina". this could just be me acting out after having spent all of high school being repressed and thinking that "stupid" was a bad word.

or it could be my attempt to drive away my newfound admirers in dubai (yes, i see you and i have been told. what are you doing here, child? do you want to be corrupted?)

trip to rodney's secondhand bookstore happened. i had an almost-indie moment with a scruffy beanie wearer in a mustache. we smiled and talked about the book i wound up buying- the history of the blues which came before the pbr series. i walked away when he buried his nose in the musty smell of the film section.

there is this bizarre thing that happens and it is this: every time i have a spat with the boyfriend, one of his friends emails me. the two are completely unrelated, but it is a true.

anyway, i am sick of this last stretch of winter and i long for spring. tanki comes over in two days and i will basically be living on caffeine very soon. i am too tired to be excited anymore, so i am glad she's coming on a friday. 

in other news, passionfruit orange guava juice is the shit.  in case you were wondering what was with the incoherent mess of words, i'm falling asleep right now,and trying to put off taking a shower.  thank you for reading, goodnight.

Beginning

Maybe I can win your heart
With funny links
And texts
that make fun of my yahoo neighbours.

Maybe you will fall in love with me
And we will have an afternoon on a roof
sipping beer.

Maybe I won't have to wait
So long
For my phone to go
Beep.


This has been rescued from my drafts folder. It was dated 16th June, roughly 10 days after I met the hobo. It was an exercise in creative writing, (almost) nothing more. Obviously.

Life is full of "little-did-I-know"s.

Every little hair knows your name

So today I discovered that my relationship has been built on a foundation of deceit, theft, memory loss, weed and alcohol.

Well, you know what they say…. actually, I don’t think they’ve come up with a saying for this yet.

In other news from the week:

One of the grad students from work put up this Facebook status on Friday after laughing for something like 5 minutes straight:

Intern tells her version of Genesis today:

“Eve eats the poison apple of temptation, and then God gets angry, and they are naked, and God casts them out of paradise and they need to work. Oh, and then they have lots of babies or something.”(5 minutes later)

“Clearly I am a heathen!”

(After posting this) Intern: “This is so embarassing. Public shaming. Hang on. Isn’t that what they do to heathens? Public shaming or something?”

————————————————————————————————————-

Also, A mentioned in a thread : Yesterday, R was on Skype, and I told her I could see Facebook reflected in her spectacles. She said– ‘sums up a generation.’ Truer words were never spoken. Ki pathetic.

The person in both instances was me, of course. For some reason everyone at work knew it was me because in their words- no one else would use the word ‘heathen’. The second I only bring up here to convince you that I am not actually a blithering idiot.

In less useless news, I have discovered Jens Lekman, a Swediesh indie pop artist. Your arms around me may just be the best thing I’ve listened to this side of alternate since The Stray Birds. His voice reminds me a little of Morrissey from The Smiths.

"kehta hain dil, rasta mushkil,  maaloom nahi hain kahaan manzil"

Because it's that kind of day. Because it's that kind of life.