Disclaimer: Anything I say here resembling anyone’s opinions or ideas, constructs and thoughts, quotations or characters are in no means to be taken as real and living people,except on my part representing me. However anything expressed that you may find hurtful or offensive, unless intended as real constructive criticism is best to do away. As in please find your way towards the exit of this blog; A game called life. If you are in any ways triggered then good. I am doing my work. Ideally I find that you should work through your feelings of feeling triggered. I am currently going through a writer’s phase called writer’s boredom or my fear of boredom. So pardon me if my writing currently feels drier than Ghandi’s flip flop.
Instead of waiting for inspiration to hit me on the head like a grand piano from the sky, allow me to plague you with my blogger’s flow of thoughts. I am tired of waiting for the train when I missed it by years. As I have said famously to many loved ones, very many a times; “I’d be late for my own funeral”. I’m late every day. And I feel late even when I’ve made it on time because all that follows usually is immense boredom and/or frustration in life. Not very mindful is it? I honestly do wish my contacts would read my blog, rather than my mother, cyber stalking me to make sure I am not dead. Probably to reassure herself. So her immense urge to call the police on her adult child because of a random feeling convinced her I wound up dead somewhere. Read the rest of this page »