Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Fence Straddling

What do i deeply detest? I hate when people always put up their sorrows online. I hate when people keep posting rants and worries on their blogs/tweets/facebook statuses/personal messages etc. It's okay if you do it once in a way. By that, i mean say, once a month; but anything more than that and it's just fucking attention seeking. I know, i know, people can argue that depression is the most common emotion and all, but don't fucking spread it. I have 'friends' who continuosly post shit like: "i'm so down today", "i hate my lyf" and "sad song lyric". Nothing depresses me more.

However, now i can relate just a little bit. I haven't blogged at all this last week for two reasons: Firstly because i just didnn't have anything to say; and second because i've spent most of my free time worrying about my academic scene. I'll talk about that in a later post, once it's all worked out. Anyway, this worry dogs me wherever i go, whatever i do. It's this nagging thing at the back of my head that just doesn't fucking leave. I just figured out (as i'm writing this) that it's my conscience.

I realize that in my attempt to not be like them fuckers who do keep writing sad, sentimental and deeply emotional posts, i'm just stuck being funny. There's no other option, and this works against me when i'm not doing that well emotionally. Which is, as they say it in Mumbai, the ''fuck-up''.

In direct contrast to these Emotionally Public People are the Always Must Be Funny/Always Must Be On Top People. These people MUST always be funny, and they NEED the upper hand. I realize i shouldn't be either of these, and hence, this is my way of not being funny, and hence being funny at the same time. It's my fucking solution, and whether it works or not is of no consequence. Unless i get hate mail, of course. But like some media fuck said:
I'm not fucking quoting media people man, what do you think i am? Sheesh.

PS: I'm listening to Make Me Pure Not Gay by Robbie Williams and Cheer Up by Reel Big Fish.

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