Recently I noticed that my life seems to have turned into a series of blog posts. Unwritten ones of course...
It starts when I read the newspaper over breakfast. The news is no longer just 'news'. It's fodder for this blog. I read some shocking news. I angrily compose some posts and then rewrite them in my head. Unfortunately when I shut the paper all those drafts are deleted automatically.
Somebody rings the bell. A salesman. I drive him off, composing a post on the dangers posed by such wandering salesmen. I end with absurd advise on driving them away. Yup, a real nice post. Pity it won't last till I get on the comp.
I've got an errand to run in town. I struggle to kick start my bike and compose another post on how unsafe those damn kick-start thingies are. It whips back so fast my leg gets hurt and while I'm swearing the post becomes unprintable.
I'm riding to town. Another post gets drafted in my head. All about how lovely and unspoiled Goa is. It gets canned for being too sentimental.
A cop stops me and asks for my licence. I thrash the entire police department in my head. I use blistering language and load the post heavily with sarcasm. It's so much fun but I know the actual thing will never live up to it, so I regretfully consign it to the black hole of unwritten posts.
I haggle with someone and draft a triumphant post on my bargaining skills. Then I remind myself that this blog isn't fictional and I save the idea for use when I become better at bargaining.
There's a sudden shower as I ride back home, so I plan a post on my love-hate relationship with the rain. I'm drenched by the time I get home and I've forgotten why I love the rain. Another post has to be postponed.
I have to make dinner. I write posts in my head about all my favourite dishes. Unfortunately I burn the dishes I'm supposed to be watching and I lose all interest in anything to do with food.
I sit in front of the computer before going to bed and I can't think of a single thing to write about. I think about all the posts I drafted and discarded in my head all day. I mourn their loss. I decide to immortalise them with a fitting memorial.
Hence this post.
It starts when I read the newspaper over breakfast. The news is no longer just 'news'. It's fodder for this blog. I read some shocking news. I angrily compose some posts and then rewrite them in my head. Unfortunately when I shut the paper all those drafts are deleted automatically.
Somebody rings the bell. A salesman. I drive him off, composing a post on the dangers posed by such wandering salesmen. I end with absurd advise on driving them away. Yup, a real nice post. Pity it won't last till I get on the comp.
I've got an errand to run in town. I struggle to kick start my bike and compose another post on how unsafe those damn kick-start thingies are. It whips back so fast my leg gets hurt and while I'm swearing the post becomes unprintable.
I'm riding to town. Another post gets drafted in my head. All about how lovely and unspoiled Goa is. It gets canned for being too sentimental.
A cop stops me and asks for my licence. I thrash the entire police department in my head. I use blistering language and load the post heavily with sarcasm. It's so much fun but I know the actual thing will never live up to it, so I regretfully consign it to the black hole of unwritten posts.
I haggle with someone and draft a triumphant post on my bargaining skills. Then I remind myself that this blog isn't fictional and I save the idea for use when I become better at bargaining.
There's a sudden shower as I ride back home, so I plan a post on my love-hate relationship with the rain. I'm drenched by the time I get home and I've forgotten why I love the rain. Another post has to be postponed.
I have to make dinner. I write posts in my head about all my favourite dishes. Unfortunately I burn the dishes I'm supposed to be watching and I lose all interest in anything to do with food.
I sit in front of the computer before going to bed and I can't think of a single thing to write about. I think about all the posts I drafted and discarded in my head all day. I mourn their loss. I decide to immortalise them with a fitting memorial.
Hence this post.
28 comments:
baby... less drafting, more posting!!!
nice!! We know someone else who does just that !
@ anonymous - very few people are allowed to call me 'baby'. And they don't leave anonymous comments cos they know how much it would piss me off!
@ glenn - yeah :) but she actually types them and saves them as drafts :D I merely plan them!
very few people are allowed to call me 'baby'
Oh, now you talkin' to me baby, that I like! Hey, keep it comin'!
Tony Montana aside, I know how you feel.
Nice :)
@ woozie - yeah, maybe I should have stuck to "don't call me baby! I'm not your baby!"
More traditional. :D
@ ryan - Thanks!
Baby -- can I call you that? -- you need to buy yourself a little thing called a Notebook. It has pieces of what is known as Paper (TM), upon which you can record your thoughts with a recently invented implement called a Pencil (TM).
And honey, visit my blog, for it has Retired (TM). Leave a fitting eulogy and mucho tears.
@ convict - baby (cos thats who you are), I've already stopped by your blog and shed many tears. I longed to collect them in a little bucket so I could freeze them for posterity but they didn't wait for me to find one.
Pity, wouldn't you have liked an ice sculpture in the shape of a bucket made wholly from my tears?
So you now have little blog posts that are not floating around in purgatory anymore. RIP posts.
BTW apologies for linking you wrong. I've made it all better now.
@ iz - yeah, now they're all laid to rest. All confy and snuggled up in their own quilts.
Also in their own coffins and their own graves.
No, I'm not being morbid. Whatever gave you that idea!
:D
And I went and visited my page from your blog. Small thigs like that please my itsy-bitsy mind ;)
Send me an orkut invite, please. Pretty please.
Orkut? What is that, somethin by them piece a shit columbians?
@ convict - I'll send you an invite right now but I've tried it before and they never seem to go thru'. It's better if you get an account for yourself directly and then I can find you with your email id. Or you can find me. Either way :)
@ woozie - It's a 'community site' run by google. Like Hi5. And yeah the word 'orkut' is damn weird.
I aplogise for not commenting on your blog. My selfish 15 year old nature prevents me from doing so. But still I have which means I have overcome it. And also I too find myself planning posts based on all the weird stuff that happens to me. But I forget it all in the pursuit of free food and female companionship.
Free food, yes.
Female companionship? FUCK NO.
You can't "sign up" for orkut. I tried. You need an invite from someone.
@ convict - um... I signed up for a friend just the other day cos my invite wasn't going through to him. I didn't have any problems. I just used the JOIN NOW button on the page.
He didn't even have a gmail address. I used his hotmail account to create a google account right from the orkut page and then entered his hotmail account and validated it.
I sent you an invite yesterday anyway, but like I said for some reason my invites don't seem to be going through. :(
@ lone wolf - hmm... the pursuit of free food and female companionship is a lofty goal indeed.
What if I promise to someday help with the first in exchange for regular visits and comments?
Karen. find me on orkut and lets' amke freindship so we can jointly bitch about the freaks who link abidly and send grammatically incorrect propositison. Which pisses me off more than the fact that they send propositions. You'll find me as itisha peerbhoy.
@ iz - Already done :)
And what gets my goat is people who say 'hai' when they mean 'hi'.
Also the 'will you make friendship' line.
Also...
Never mind. That list wouldn't end anytime soon! :D
hey ... damn I think all goan girls who happen to be the youngest in their families are called 'baby'. My cousins hate it!
hope you had a good weekend. the radioblog thing is really cool no? so what kinda music you like?
cheers ... baby! LOL
@ saltwater blues - I'm NOT the youngest in my family :) And I'm NEVER called 'baby'. Not by my family atleast. Some friends use it, but then they also use things like 'halkat' or 'vadieu' both of which translate into something like 'shameless loafer'. :D
Karen is a goddess
@ lone wolf - Kali?
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Did you downloaded Wikileaks docs? Give me link plz
By the way, anybody home?!
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