I've been writing lesser. This, after I promised a blog revamp, posts that made more sense and an honest effort to not beat around the bush. It's a pity I know. But as I write this, I know fully well that this post will, also be followed by an unreasonable gestation period until I loose my marbles and put up a series of ridiculously morbid poetry-of-sorts again.
It is time consuming, I say- this laziness, this sudden sense of comfort I have developed with procrastination. The worst part is that I am not really slowing down. I am however, delaying, dreaming and over-thinking, quite a bit. I am distracted, oh so distracted. By what, you ask? Oh that I am afraid I cannot determine! Its not one thing, its so many but when I sit to count, it is nothing at all. The old itch is coming back, I fear. The itch to just get up and fly. Not even run away. Just look up and fly. Just like that.
But along with all this need for freedom, change and all that jazz, there is a sense of shallowness. I can't explain it. I've never been able to. But I go to sleep every night without making a difference. I evolve, I learn and oh I've changed so much for the good et cetera. Yet, I still don't reach out. How has this blog which I have maintained for years, now, helped anyone? And by help, I don't mean I pity or sympathize, heck I am not entitled to that, but is there any need at all I've fulfilled?
I try to be there for friends, for family. We all do, don't we? But I am a little more self-obsessed that most people I know. Selfish? not at all. But self-obsessed, yes. I had never really seen a problem with that. But off late, I feel shallow. I have ridiculous reasons of worry. I fret over absolute non-issues and I do not know if I will ever get into politics. I don't intend to make this an I-hate-my-life post. I am very happy, in fact. But there is something missing. Something, undefined, but still so important. Something that shouldn't be missing. I just can't pin point what it is yet.
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