wordiest balah!

I am awed by all the blogs i just read. How, I say to myself, how do these women manage to say exactly what they feel, think and believe? And even if i do not identify with everything they have to say, i still read, as if under a spell. That surely is an enviable talent.

It been ages since i posted, yes, i have said something to this effect before. But i have been writing, not getting very much better at it, but i have been penning down my thoughts. Its just been either so disconnected or so raw, its not given me enough gumption to put them here.

But really, how does one write of all the thoughts that just pass through all day. Some flit in and out, some take root, some just linger long enough to give company with a lonely coffee.

I travel for about four hours everyday. These thoughts are my constant companions. I hear my voice all the time, even if i am reading or listening to songs which are someone's favourites. I havent been good at recalling music, or lyrics ever. It just refuses to get hardwired into me, unless its really bad music, which unfortunately for my friends i can start spouting with not too much provocation. And yet, everytime i hear his favourite songs, I learn to love them, effortlessly. No forced conditioning, i just have to hear them once to warm up to them, adapt and make them my own. So everytime my earphones burst forth a song, i am taken back to some memory, some vivid occasion connected to the song.

I wonder about where life is taking me or where i am leading it. But I am almost always alone. Alone while i commute, alone when in a group, alone at work, and alone at home. Home too feels temporary right now. For some strange reason, i just havent been interested in my home. In my head its a transient phase, right now stretching longer than i was prepared for it. I still dont have a good, spacious cupboard. I share a room with my sister, but i am loathe to take responsibility for it. I spend just a few waking hours in it, a stray weekend when i dont go gallivanting about town and a semi comatose existence trying desperately to find meaning.

I cant even make up my mind if i like tea or coffee, in my head i cannot belong to both clubs, i have to pick! I walk into a mall, and walk out without a single thing added to my collection of junk. I wonder if age is catching up at 26. Maybe because i feel older, tired and bored as a widow. Life's charm is taking its time weaving its way back into mine. I aint properly, completely miserable even.

Its a weird sort of floating. No water to touch base with, no wings to take me higher to touch the sky. Words get caught up in the bottle neck called our throat. No where to direct them. Comfortably superstitious in my early days, either I do not remember them, or I couldn't care less.

If by now you havent already realised, my post is going nowhere.