And then....

Gloop. Gloop.



The world has folded upon itself. And it makes a sound something like this.


I took it from Equal Rites. Pratchett is the Saviour.





He really is.

Of Monos and Men.....

Read this. PLEASE. * After Monday.*




I ask those people who have read the post I have been pointing at with bold types, when you go home and face yourself in the mirror at the end of the day and sigh a little sigh that thank God I was not involved directly then you feel that the world is a selfish place.


And this man takes the cake around JUDE. Thanks to him, JUDE shall always be accompanied in my memories as a place sullied by his presence.

I shall not forget my professors.... who have been staunchly supporting our cause.

Kudos to Babelfish, Teleute, Somnath, Aritra for sticking up for those who are in the mess.

This sounds embarrassingly like a thank-you note, but I shall not continue in this area because I feel that personal involvement is equal to being biased. And I am personally involved in this.

leaving on a freaking train....

which is at 10 tonight.


Miss you already Kolkata.


Havent left it though.


I hate best friends getting married. I will miss my first best friend. I dont care even if people think we rule the greengrocer's shops.




I dont wanna see her hitched. I DONT!!!!

26th February. Seven days to Best Friend Getting Hitched.

So there I was, twirling my pen idly and wondering what the hell was this exam for and why was I such an idiot so as to give it? Sitting for it made me realize that I knew nothing of such matters as what is the first "rockumentary"... and stuff like that.

Friggit.

Ah on the other hand.

Have freaked out last night with buddies and generally have been musifucked till the head groaned in protest.

Have had Flury's er Black forest Cake after cocking a snoot to my diet chart, with the chant "50 crunches" rolling around my befuddled head.

Have effectively lost my voice for the umpteenth time due to dust allergy in book fair, because Panu had to go and look at a book called "Sex tips for Straight women from a gay man". ENLIGHTENING. Very.

Have bought four major Tennessee Williams novel for seventy rupees. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, A Streetcar Named Desire and Sweet Bird of Youth has the stills from the film.

Bought my laptop. Own money, apunka pride rules.

Have got best friend her complete wedding cosmetics set. Woman is jumping with joy... because of a promise for a male stripper on her bachelorette party. I NEED a Stripper. Male. Someone who can carry off Black Leather.

Have also got her a brand new peach lace teddy. Future Hubby's expression is what I want to Find Out.


Lots of things.


I Am making lists.

Oh Oh Oh, and have finally decided to get a life. ASAP.

Update: Asked Deep and Iru about the Stripper bit. Both declined.... quite unpolitely that is. Men. They can be so shy sometimes, I tell you.

Hmm. The season changes with misty murkiness, and Panu realizes that her time in JUDE is almost up. Another three months, and she shall be able to put the words M.A. after her name. And be off to the wider world of nasty, annoying superficiality that awaits her star-struck gaze.

So what’s so new about the world that she has not seen already? Now, now, lets not pretend here. Panu has seen the world. She has seen this little universe she inhabits to the minutest details… and experienced and criticized in her mind, analyzing and putting away the bile that has been stored up within, only to vomit them out here, in this particular post she is writing.

No, strangely enough, this is not a bitch post, as her friend Rimi calls them. Panu cannot bitch about people all that much. She really can’t put people down at the drop of a hat, either. That's because Panu believes in looking into a person’s face and telling him/her exactly whom he/she is messing with.

By the way, to tell the truth, bitching does have its advantages and sometimes Panu does indulge it in a bit, but nothing she cannot repeat in the face of the person concerned.

You know what? Lets make this a funny post, filled with nothing in it. I would like to be superficial. I do believe that it takes a lot of depth to be superficial. But to be nasty and superficial, it takes a lot more.

Panu is becoming famous. People are bitching about her behind her back. Wow!! That's like… super good, cause that means, they somehow feel threatened by Panu’s existence. It means, they consider her to be a challenge, and therefore needs to be put down. Panu would like to say that she feels like Shylock, who had to be sent out of the play for all to be better. Or like Feste in Twelfth Night who became steadily numb as “rain it raineth every day”.

What else? All right. This was not a post in defense of me, or an apology for being me, although this might be called by the backbiters both… This is an acknowledgement of me being me. I am, and therefore I am. And I will be me. No changes. I wont change… not become anorexic because my haute friends thinks I should lose 20 kilos right away, not change my attitude though people might think I am slow and stupid… and yes, basically be exactly the way I am, and remain uncaring and unconcerned, and in general the Mary Poppins attitude I do possess.

P.S. this post was to vent the irritation. I hate losers who have nothing else to do but be nasty to others, however learned they might be. Otherwise, I’m cool.

St. Valentine's Day, 2007

In the shadows of broken images

My half-lies become truths

I fight through the valley of darkness

And gain the sordid sense of perfection

That contaminated me. I who am so imperfect,

Unsound, unsung, unheard, must hear

the Voice of those who still live, and wonder

When will my time come?


Its just me. Today, I learnt how to exist

Tomorrow, I just might learn to live.

Just might. But its all in the murky depths,

Where all is lost.

I hope to find it one day, and realize

The glory of this loss, and that fulfillment

Till then, let me lie in peace.

The Fare of Intellect

Well, the winter is almost off Kolkata, but the chill left around the middle of December when the first Singur issues came over, followed by the controversy of book fair to be held in Maidan.


I love book fair. When I was 9, my aunt took me to the book fair for the first time, and I was hooked. It was everything I dreamed of and everything I wished for. My only regret was that I did not get enough time to browse through every bookstall.


I go to the book fair every year, without fail. Most of the time I go alone. I enter and get lost in the immense number of people moving in snail’s pace all over. What do I love the most? The books, of course. And yes, I like bumping into a celebrity and utter a half-muffled “sorry” before realizing that “Hallo, This is-------!!”


But this time it was to be shifted. The High Court believes that the book fair will be a great source of pollution, so it is to be shifted somewhere other than the Kolkata Maidan, right at the heart of the city. Yes, that's actually something I support. Despite the fact that I want the Book Fair to be held, I believe that it can be held anywhere… the “Sanskritik Paribesh” (Cultural Environment) is an essence that can be achieved anywhere, given the right attitude.


It is not fair anyway for any fair to be held in the Kolkata Maidan. But for three years our chief minister had literally bullied the law to gain permission for the book fair to be held in Maidan. Why is this?? Because the chief minister does not want to ruin the “culture” of the Bengalis.


What culture?? Is the culture not ruined when Bengali language is compromised in the schoolbooks?? Is the culture not ruined when Bengali filmmakers directly copy and paste Hindi movies, word & action and all?? Is culture not ruined when in the name of protest a farce is played out right at the heart of the city??


I shall not vent my wrath on this issue further. It makes me wonder why do the media make such a big deal out of the shift of the book fair. There has been shifts and changes all the time, and in time, acceptance shall come. To tell the truth, I know that only about 5% of the vast population that streams through the book fair actually come for the books. Most of them give an appearance to –


a. meet celebrities,

b. appear intellectual and well-read,

c. meet and hang out with friends,

d. sample food from the numerous stalls,

e. look with wonder what a huge funny Disneyland type thing is on, without the Disney bit hanging out.



And I love book fair. Yes I do. But this is not the way it should be held. It is becoming an issue of grave political power play and that is where the line should be drawn. I as a book lover would not ever support that.


Now for the other bit. I was watching the debate today after the high court passed the decision, and in the news channel, they were holding a sort of opinion poll. SMS after SMS came in favour of the book fair, and most of them have horrid errors. From the Cultured, Educated Bengalis who are trying to promote book fair in Maidan, here are a few gems:


1. Certainly it must be held in Maidan. We wan our bo ok far. (Ok-ay)

2. This is very humiliating for the books. (It is?)

3. We want proper athurity to juge. On it is not cultural program. It is only buisness (Go tell that to the authority)

4. Great decision. Its high time someone care about envoirnment. (Yep… we care about it too)

5. Congratulations to the high court for such a high decisions (oh, the lofty heights!!)

6. Bai Mela ekhon tarunder prem korar jayga hochhe. [yep. Bai Bai Baby]

7. If no book fair we deprive. Why we deprive? (what an intellectual question. Answers anyone?)

8. Yes kolkata book fare(?) should not be change. Maidan court of book fare. (ummmm………)

9. Maidane bhoy mela hog ager moto. (OOH, I am scared!!)

10. Book fair must must be allowed allowed in Maidan only. (I don’t don’t think so!)



And the winner is:






11. It is a very Sade case this loss of position.


By the way, the book fair is being held. At Yubabharati Krirangan ( Am too lazy to give you the link here.... go look up wikimapia for it) ..... and I am as happy as a lark because its less than 5 minutes from my home. By auto.

I think, therefore I Ask

I don’t know why the last few posts have been pathetically, wistfully, gloomy. I think I need to get laid… this is getting way too far. I mean, look at me.

I AM AN ABSOLUTE DISHRAG. I mean, What Am I? A Woman or a Wimp?


I AM A WIMP.

Damn.

This is what I hate. I am a Wimp. A total wimp when it matters. In my life, everyone thinks I am all brave and stuff (Kaichu being one such unfortunate), but I am not. Not really. I am a wimp when the Aunty next seat in BCL raps at me to be quiet, and I don’t turn to her to say, “excuuuuse me Madam, but BCL is not your father’s house, understood?” rather, be content after mouthing a silent “beeyach” to Kamalika (JUDE, UGII)… and a wimp when the auto rickshaw wallah spanks my thighs while “attempting” to start the self-start (fucker) and I discreetly make the indistinct noise, ”Tchah!”. I am a wimp when a damn professor is glaringly incorrect but I refuse to open my mouth to correct him, I am a wimp when I refuse to make a rumpus when the heavy breather behind me presses his arousal against my buttock (I do stamp down hard with my ‘killer’ 4-inch spikes though… asshole!), and I am a wimp when the man who made me a mockery scraps me on orkut and tries to be all sweetness and light, because he needs to keep a clean reputation.

So this new-year, although a bit too late, I have decided not to be a wimp any more. I hereby solemnly swear, no more Miss I-Cant-Speak-Out-Coz-I’m-the-Reincarnation-of-Pollyanna-in-Real-Life.


And I need to ask one question… “Is a hot chick cool or a cool chick hot?” (As asked by SRK in a song promoting KBC)

Just emni.


And er, yes, I know I am basically hopeless and really, no post matches no post in content and action or stuff, but you keep coming back because you like/love/hate me, na? Don’t be indifferent. I hate it. All the time.


*Dhoosh*

L is for the way...

“I’m not free. I never was and I never will be.”

“I know your flaws, but I can’t stop thinking of you.”

"Please, baby."

"Baby, please."

“Don’t lie to me. I know you too well. Please stop lying. Please.”

“I can’t stay. Not any longer. I can’t stay, baby.”

“Please, baby.”

“I am sorry.”

"This is not working out."

“I am so sorry.”

“Sorry.”


The pen falls, the lamps dim, and thin hearts stop beating. Love dies. Suddenly.




Do you know what loneliness is like?? It is worse, far worse than dying. Because death is a surety. You never know when loneliness hits you with the vast acres of open land inside you, and you suddenly realize how tired you are, how exhausted. All you want to do is have a night’s sleep… sleep that you need, sleep that you covet. But sleep eludes you. You stare hollow-eyed at the ceiling, waiting for something, anything. But nothing comes. Nothing happens. Nothing.

Love you. Love you. Love you so much. Its like dying, sometimes it hurts so bad that it feels like there is nothing beyond the pain. And beyond the pain, lies the peace. The peace that soothes and calms. The peace that comes after letting go. The peace that dulls the ache, and loosens the strings.

It did not work. It was not meant to, perhaps.

Good bye my darling. I will remember. But good bye for now.

I'm Posting This Everywhere...

Disclaimer : This message contains certain comments that at best should be overlooked... and at worst, should be undermined... offended christmas lovers please delete this message at this ripe point cause the Grinchess is going to go "Glingle Glingle" over all that overflowing Christmas spirit...


Well, Mother Mary's Mistake was born on 25th to provide the world with a semi-holy Ghost who walked freely among us and turned water into wine and died because nobody else could do that and they all wanted free booze but couldnt make any... so year after year we celebrate the day that marked this great man's birthday, who was the world's first one-man insta-distillery...
And then there was the other guy, Nick, who gave away free gifts to kids, and spoilt them beyond their bratty pants, and their poor parents were supposed to provide gifts, because the brats would not stop until they did... St. Nick just started the tradition, who cares where those poor parents might end up on their way to the toy/chocolate/gift/other goodies shop... cursing their dwindling bank accounts and wallets for being so slim and trim (well, FAT is in, at least when it comes to this)...


And then there are the songs and the traditional cakes and chicken (in lieu of the Turkey or Ham).... yada yada.... Yes, fine, and all that. I just want to tell everyone that it all adds up to the Spirit... the Booze that is...


So there. I had to get that out of my system. For those who reside in this world, Happy Christmas... for those who reside in this world and the Disc, Happy Hogswatch... may all pigs fly.

Panu.

My Way

I stand here in the empty darkness,

Waiting for the first chord of the bass to fall

Behind me lies the distant dreams that I forgot,

In my fingers lie the silken chords of silence.



I can choose but my choices make no move

They melt in the depths of the darker shades,

They rustle through the wind like dry leaves,

They split the dry ground and eases within.



So many memories of mythical madness

My presumptions, my illusions, all fall down

Frequent mistakes I have made, but I

Never thought of the consequences to come.


Now they have come back to haunt

The depths of darkness that stretch in front,

But I must walk this path, although I can feel

It is fading away into the dark abyss.

A Farewell to Cell....

Well, so I lost it. Finally.



For those who does not know, its my new Mobile Phone!!




Well, not so old maybe, but it was only 6 months I had it. I bought it with my own money, hard earned own money.... thats what makes the absence of the fat little piggy so bad. It was my baby, my pillow for comfort. My Nokia 6600.


I will miss you, my bloated buddy. You were there when I needed to video record, or listen to music, or something equally important. Nothing will replace you.

*Audience shall excuse me now while I bang my head against the keyboard.*

Two Poems.... for the mists of an Autumnal Dawn

Arka, this is because I was too lazy to mail.


The Retreat


I've stopped loving you.

Whatever courses through my veins now are aftershocks,

Denied moments of paralysed thoughts,

Unbearably familiar.

Oh, I have stopped.

Waving, wading towards the unreachable horizon of Eternal Belief

When I once perhaps could unite

But now the straining drops of molten wariness

Chase the futile fragments;

My memories float in the shallow pool

Of numb distorted moments of fragmented vision.

Yes, I have stopped it. Finally...



The Partition


My fingers creep towards the door

And unlatches the lock

And then freezes in the distant discord

Of melifluous harmony.

In the roots of my aching bones

Something wake up to call forth

So many dried-up memories

Born again, from the drugged

Hole inside the rusty depths

Of this chaotic vision.


My spirits hover over my head,

Crooning, caressing, craving

The necessity to give in

To shameless, wanton discourses

Of dissected emotions,

Laying them moments apart from

Where I stand, hands frozen

On the doorknob,

Waiting for an entrance

To my divided portions.

The DOSE

So there are talks and there are talks… and then there’s my family. Modest gentle folks would surely get a heart attack after an hour with them in full throttle, and its even worse than Him-mesh Reshammiyyaa-yaa doing a moviee with two ‘e’s and even more songs that can be categorized under ‘u’ with a nasal twang.

In fact, I sometimes wonder why I am with them. I mean, they are rude, arrogant, mentally and emotionally challenged, exceptionally blunt, vengeful and filled with deceit, and crude about most of the things in life and all in all, pains in the butt cheeks.

Oh, that's me.

Part of the time, of course. When I am not being an overly sensitive diva-dolly about something or not moaning about my life, or being agony aunty to my near and dear ones.

So for the last four days I am receiving little doses. I would like to share them and add to your blog-reading pain.

Chapter One

Sister arrives home, exceptionally excited.

Panu takes heed. The fifth bite to the five-star is wisely not made, and is carefully tucked away behind the pile of books she was attempting to read but never really got further than the flyleaf.

N.B. transcreation from Bengali by Panu.

Meghna (enter room door): DIDI!! (Sister!!)

Oh, a small pause. Meghna is 12 years of age.

Panu (cautiously covering leftover five star with the Xerox on Eliot): Ki? (What?)

Meghna (Excitement pours round her vein like bolts of blue lightning): Tui janish sex mane ki? (Do you know what sex means?)

Panu (Gasp! Sacrilege! Gasp! Or according to fish interpreted by Peep, Vulva! Labia!) : Um-

Meghna (know she is on to something prick-y, so becomes real insistent): Janish kina bol??

Panu (still struggling with her 23 year old understanding of life and everything and her sister’s mental status for grasping the major equation and skipping details): Mane—er… (Meaning, er…)

Meghna (wide-eyed with ecstatic energy that courses through her veins every time she lets her poor sister suffer a trick question): Janish na to? (You don’t know, right?)

Panu (at this point chooses the wisest course and gives up): Na, mane…(no, I mean…)

Meghna: Tui kichhu janish na. Sex mane holo f*cking. (You don’t know anything. Sex means the abbreviation for Fornicating Under the Consent of the King... you dig??)

Panu (faintly): Oh. Okay.


Chapter Two


Early morn. Very early. Like five o’clock in the morning. Panu is going to sleep after a hard night of chatting and orkutting. Yawn yawn and beddy bye… just a little formality of closing the door after the father’s left for his three-mile morning walk.

So enter parent’s bedroom to see how long will she have to stay up before the brawny beast (i.e. daddy darling) left for the fields.

Mum sleeps with cheerful disarray, legs bared artfully, her pale skin glistening like pearl under the early morning sun (yeah, yeah, I don’t have a life…). Panu stops to admire the view.

Dad enters.

Dad: Pronam koro. (Pay respect)

Panu: Er, keno? Kake? (Er, why? To whom?)

Dad (indicates the pearly skinned beauty gracing the bed): Pronam koro… tomar jonmosthan ar tomar babar kormosthan. (Pay respect to your birthplace and your father’s workplace).

Panu had NOT seen that coming so early in the morning.


Chapter Three

Mother in the room watching ATN Bangla (probably… or one of those Bangladesh-i channels). Panu sits down.

Onscreen:

Fat woman wearing violent green frump-top with carrot coloured leather-look skirt revealing her fat thighs and wobbly belly-flesh and huge 70s show sunglasses to indicate MODERN MAGI (Modern Woe on Mankind). Fire engine red high heels try to attempt some semblance of movement, but gasp here comes the Hero!

Hero enters with James Bond’s gracefulness without the grace bits hanging out, shaky head and revolving body in virulent shades of red and purple retro material. Yellow trousers and blue boots complete the ensemble together with ruffled hair gelled and colored in the front to resemble an ice-cream cone with chocolate sauce on top.

Hero enters. Kills most of the cast and crew, gets hit by a baddy (who had better dress sense than the previous two… only flaw was that golden waistcoat), kills him and falls.

Heroine (heaving bosom and Bangladeshi English accent): Ponti! Ponti!!!! PONTIIIIII!!! (calls hero’s name)

Throws herself on the hero. Hero suitably mollified and out of breath after having a 60-plus kilo woman fall on top of her lets out a groan.

Heroine (wails): PONNNTIIIII!!!

Panu wonders if the poor man has a death wish/ his body insured against unsuspected falling objects. And moreover, all that screeching is bound to make any man deaf. Wishes for a pair of earplugs for herself and the poor fashion disaster on the loose.

Hero: groan!

Heroine: PPPPONNNTIIIIII (boo hoo)… PPPPONTIIIIIII!! (gasp sob GASP) I LUUUURRRBHHH IUUUU!! I LUUUURRRVV IUUUUU!!!(GAASP!!)

Hero has miraculous recovery. Tears glisten on my mother’s eyes and she wipes them off with the back of her palm. Day saved, superman switches channel.


And here I draw the curtains.

COME AWAY, COME AWAY!

Peter Pan came into Wendy’s life and changed it… he took her away to Neverland and made sure that she never forgot the adventure.

But then Wendy had to grow up. She had to grow old. She had to remember her duties and her self.

And so she did.

But she never forgot what it was like to be gay and innocent and heartless.

Away, away… far, far away to the distant dream of forgetfulness… and then back to reality and duties.

And this too, shall pass.

Shall be a grain of sand in the infinite beach of time.

Woe is Me

Okay, so the matriarchs just shot three brand new troubles at me that goes by the common name prospective husbands at me... and gave them my cell phone number....

Damn me for going to Patna in the first place. Looks like this country is getting too little for one overweight person.

And my neck is in a brace because flu struck and I struck the steel bucket. See, theory of cause and effect at work.

And now I must leave. I am supposed to study for tomorrow's exam. Only, I haven't done a thing.

You

The mid-autumnal depression settled down on Panu’s weary soul… filled with the temporal gloom that she was habituated by the 23rd year of her life. It was always this way. It will always be this way. But it is not this way. Not this year.

Behold the madness that comes with the forbidden! Panu feels the pangs of her conscience strike her unblemished behind with guttural force, but still she stalls, still she is unable to give up the call of temptation that drags her away from her peaceful deluge.

And then she sings out in the depth of fading darkness. She sings out her fear. Her doubts. What has she done? What is she doing?

What are you doing to me?

I can’t rest I can’t work

I cant move, I cant sit still

All comes round when the time approaches

And as your voice pours in

The indescribable joy that

Infuses my very soul.

Damn you! I wish

You did not have the power

To do this to me.

To make me weak and carefree

Spilling all of myself

Right out to your waiting ears

Your taunting face

Flashes in a vision, lips

Curled into a cruel smirk

Standing, shifting right beyond me,

Watching my folly with unbidden delight.

My soul twists up in conscientious knots

But waits for your call

When you let me soar high up,

My body rocking with pleasurable pain

Of your absence.

Once there was a Cow...

And that was fattened and cut up.

And poor Panu was stuck with the calf.


So at this point if anyone wonders what the heck is this sadly demented woman screeching about, I daresay, the calf is a symbol. A symbol for dewy-eyed susceptibility and an unerring nose for trouble.

This has been my punishment, my sorrow, my unfortunateness that there was once a DON, who was ze Great Boss....

And then there was the calf. The Clone. The deceptive little thing that was nigh on impossible to make out from outside what it was going to be. That thrill of anticipation was so great that even Panu decided to place a bet on the outcome.

RESULT : Ah, clones are never the same. Just look at Dolly. And look at Rampal trying to be Pran, OH THE DISGUST it fills me with {together with a healthy dose of lust to see those gorgeous mass-scale muscles on the move.... thanks Mr. Almighty for still keeping thick-skinned men whom women(and of course, the occassional male as well) ogle}.

And then came that stutterer whom I expected to say "d-d-d-d-donji!!" any moment in the film, and somewhere in the first half-an-hour, I started to regret not going to see "Jaan-e-Mann" (where there were a lot of long-haired bare-chested crying men, from those reports I heard.... and nicer songs).

So all in all, NO, I WAS NOT HAPPY To Spend hard-earned money on something that was a cross between Duplicate and Manikchand Ad.

And advice to all who will be spending their hard-earned cash in the near future for it : Please. You'll get the CD of the real thing for a few rupees... stick to it.

Nobody, but nobody can beat the Big B.

*hem hem*

The Theory of Relativity

And no, it aint Einstein.

So, on an uncertain evening of October, the grandparents of a cousin land on our pujo-Aching backs, just as we were recovering from seeing off one set of Grand-Parents (By Grand, I DO MEAN Grand, I.E. Ma Durga and her Brats.... they were quite demanding I dare say, Looking for brand new benarashi sarees and blisters on poor big toes... ) on and with truckloads of maniacs who waylaid anyone who got in the way....

Anyway, they are mean, and they are here to stay. For the next six days. Just when I had all the intents to work on my TERM PAPERS. THREE TERM PAPERS. And at the verge of it, my poor room gets ransacked (I.E. I have to clean it because clearly those grandparents will go with a magnifying glass to find specks of dusts on unsuspecting places and then go home and tell all about uncivilized women who keep their room according to their convenience. As a result, prospective mother-in-laws in HYDERABAD will turn their faces from the evil woman who will ruin their poor son's life by breathing the same air and therefore leave Panu a very miserable spinster desperate enough to date girls and whatnot).

SO my room is not mine anymore. Those two will lay their bald and black hair on my pillows, totally disregard my raggedy pillow that I just have to smother my face in, in order to go to a restful and much desired slumber, after a night of insomnia. They will be mutilating my racks of books for a bangla thriller (while all they find is a banged up Gitobitan, a Tenida Samagra, my Parashuram and Tarashankar collection) and lament that "P=== r joto Jadobpurer aantlaami.... apasanaskriti"(Panu suffers from false Jadavpurian intellectual pangs... signs of unculture) . And this from people who spell my name with the greatest amount of incorrectness possible.

And on top of them, I cant say a word. I must run now.... Gotta cook up something for them.


WAAAAHHH!!

My room! MY POOR POOR ROOM!!! WHAT HAVE THEY DONE TO YOU!!!

Sheempel Plejaarsh.

Well, I have been tagged by Miss Peep and therephore, I have begun a deep search deep within my heart and realized that I love a lot of things in life, but most of that is kind of twisted and extremely un-simple... er... I mean, they are complulukated.

So ten simple pleasures of myn lyf.

10. Rain. The first drops on the dry earth and the musky smell and the wet spots on my schoolclothes to the day after day drops of Jupiter, and moving through knee-deep water. Come to think about it, I also love the sound of Thunder and the Blinding Lightning. Sometimes I go upstairs just before a storm and stand there till rain drench me.

9. Working with my pets. They are so trusting, they love me for exactly what I am, not for what I have or who I am going to be. I feel so content when Ghotu perches on my shoulder and playfully pull my glasses or my earlobe.

8. Cooking. It relaxes me after a hard day's work to let some of the tensions on an unsuspecting alur dom or chicken teriyaki.

7. Music. My kind of mushic. When I want to hear them.

6. A good Mills and Boon. To cry my eyes out at the brink when I am drowning in Derrida or fouling up Foucault.

5. Chocolates. I think I am an addict. I love caramel-filled, Butterscotchy chocolates, oozing calories. as they melt in my mouth.

4. Weightloss. Ah... the moments when someone says I have lost weight, or that I look good. Ah puppy fat. GOOD RIDDANCE.

3. Walking miles and miles with Andro. Anywhere.

2. My room. I love my room. I love my bed and all the junk on it, my bookcases bulging with book, my casette player that refuses to play casettes, my mountain of xeroxes and most of all my pillows. My small, thin pillow that I refuse to let go of.

1. Reading before sleeping. Almost anything goes there, but I remember once I was desperate enough to read my accountancy book. I daresay I had a very restless night.

Fine

I tag others. Just you unsuspecting creatures wait.