Fact # 14

A leading contributor to boob saggage in Indian women is the abysmal condition of the roads connecting S.V. Road to Kalina.

*stock image
 

Erase and Rewind

I deleted my old blog since I stopped writing ever since I left college. I have no clue where everything I wrote down disappeared--I remember selecting some option requesting Google to send me a full download so I could still access my material but have no clue where anything is.

Anyway, starting afresh and on a clean slate (had no clue how to block some "followers" from reading what I wrote without them receiving a "you have been blocked" notification. Without them, I can now just use this space as a box of my thoughts and experiences, without the need to entertain or have a theme or fake it....ever so slightly.

It also seems befitting, out on my own with this space of my own.

This new life is very automated--it's quite easy to realise nobody actually gives a fuck and they will not hesitate to step out of their way to inform you of that. Even those whose entire business model is premised on giving a fuck, are in fact a no-fucks-given front--sample this--some time back, I felt my complexes, and self-worth issues just would not quit and were actively responsible in some way in my continued discontent, envy, inability to fit in appropriately etc. So I did what I thought was the mature thing and wrote an SOS mail to a psych center who's helped so many patients with their issues that the center can afford to make sure that it is the first port of call on a Google search for counseling in Mumbai city. I still haven't heard back from them--even, when my mail was in effect "Hello, I'm concerned I've spun completely out of sync and am willing to pay you to do your usual shindig of bumbling and speculating through disorders until you could diagnose me".  It was then, as it slowly dawned on me, like all other incidents of total destruction in times past--never a sudden stab, a slow slow dawning--that I realized, this stuff is too ridiculous for me not to ramble about in some spot.

Anyway, I've had a tiring day and am nodding off--totally unaffordable, since I have a 100 page agreement to draft and send to my boss who I'm totally confident would most undoubtedly read it as soon as MSOutlook informs me "sent". Just as I'm totally confident that the evil clowns at the psych center will in due course of time add me to their promotional mailing list or whatever crap it is that counseling offices invest in by way of marketing.

Bastards.