Words

Being blank bugs brainless bums beautifully. Then again, a lot of things do the same thing. The sad bit is that I haven’t had such a bad case of writer’s block since, well ... ever! And I have no idea why I cannot make myself type out a few words the way I could even some days back. There are a lot of things that I am keeping bottled up and I guess that all I want to do is stall the moment when I have to confront them. Very pathetic, yes. And also extremely escapist — the kind of behaviour that is typical of a procrastinator.

What is even more frustrating is that there are so many things around me that I can ‘draw inspiration’ from — yet I am letting those somewhat interesting events fade from my memory by not noting them down. I know that I shall not remember them otherwise. It makes me feel extremely helpless, and I do not like being helpless. I do have a massive ego, and this feeling is not very pleasant for it.

Every time I try to write, I find myself at a loss, wondering why I’m even trying to jot down words when I can’t even think them inside my head. All I feel is this overwhelming tide of incoherent thoughts that are mangled, muddled and messed-up … unable to be interpreted correctly or channelled in any form. And it’s extremely unpleasant, since I’ve always liked being able to direct them, or at least express them the way I wish to.

Writing has been such a comfort ... especially last year. I don’t want to go back to that dark abyss again. I don’t want to sit in a corner and simply stare blankly at the ceiling. I don’t want to sit and brood without any inkling of what I’m going to think of next. I don’t want to withdraw into last year’s fragile glass shell. And I don’t want to choke on words.


P.S.: I attended my department’s Fresher’s Welcome party this evening. And it was fun. That includes the part where I had to dance like a drunkard with a bottle as my ‘prop’.