How nice it is to listen to music on the radio and feel that none of it is remotely related to you.

All those sleepless nights and irritable turns and unsure days and gloom and storm and thunder and rain and low esteem. For this ending.
Cliched as this is, I feel like it's a dream. For I have had several dreams of being accepted by various universities, from which I would awake groaning at the cruelty of my own mind. I don't know how to react though. Suddenly there is no time. Suddenly I'm aware of all the roots I've put out.

Oh well... To be brave and excited.

Rereading the earlier blogs, I feel damn silly. Ephemeral enthusiasm.

It's a game, isn't it?

Yes it is. How many times can you play the trailer and still give yourself goosebumps. For the sake of ouside eyes I won't say. But you and I, Bloggy, we know.

Don't hyperventilate. (Ragged breathing)

I didn't think I was a star trek fan, or a nerd, just an afficianado. oh how I have lied to myself. I was casually reading the wiki entry on the newest film with interest on the new blood injected into the franchise. But then I read the following line

The first teaser trailer debuted in theaters with Cloverfield on January 18, 2008.

Ah, ah, ah... my heart and my bones

"There's a trailer?!"

I haven't seen it yet. I wanted to record this while I am still breathing excitedly.

And now, it has finished loading...

Some songs and lyrics produce a state of happy dreaminess in me. I am listening to one now. Imogen Heap is telling me "Such boundless pleasure, We've no time for later now".
I like this now. I like this minute, this passing second and it laughs at me as it slips out of my overeager grasp. I am so alive. Everything in me is awake, looking out of the windows watching me take them on this journey.

Am I so absorbed in my self that I am losing the sympathy to be in another skin. I liked doing that, I tried the other day. But I just found my maiden-aunt attitude coming on, disapproval of the new skin's actions. I miserably slipped back into mine.

Oh come off it. Do you really care right now? No, no, no. Nothing in me cares. I am not dead yet.

And if it comes to the worst I'll take Ms Heap's word for it. There's beauty in the breakdown.

I can't sleep. I love my dog. I LOVE my dog. Endlessly, fiercely and I am so upset to think these are his sunset years. What will this world be without him? I am desolate while just imagining it.
How will I go on?
Brutus, Brutus, I don't know what life will be without you. If only I had met you near my end, so that I could go before you had to. There is already a huge void in my heart where I miss you because you're not here and you're old and alone at home. I want you happy, my doggiest doggy.

My throat is lumpy and I'm sobbing like a baby. Oh Brutus, don't die

I have a growing frustration with myself. To put in terms that reflect my own interests: if there was a book set in a different time or place, the protagonist would quickly come to terms with the governing forces of the world, be it magic, science, the line of command, strategy and logic. Very well, I tend to think of myself as a protagonist in my own story, but I am so weakly equipped. I refer to my complete ignorance of the financial world. I am resolved to learn more, to attend more carefully to others who know more and to pay attention to the events in the world. I mean, after all, this along with all the laws of physics, science and logic (these with which I am more comfortable) will influence my life.


And I am impressed by the mathematical nature of it, by which I mean the system itself. It's alive!

Rubber

Lots of it.
I feel more resilient and thats good. The sloughs of despondency are no good. And a little of the joy of life has come back. It's lovely and I am lucky.
I am aching however from my millions of falls in wakeboarding. Could do with more rubber there.

I bought some wonderful cheese, a provolone. It's bliss.
I've been trying all day to justify me eating more of it today, but it's a full fat cheese and I'm supposed to be on a diet. Waaaaaaaaaah :'(

On the diet note, its going slowly. I enjoy the extra exercises it imposes on me. I'm unbearably smug with the amount of exercises I've done and am going to do. But Bloggy, I need it. Both the exercises and the smugness to sustain me through the body aches.

Ariel

I am so glad they remembered Bismarck's dog.

I'm missing mine.

When I read about great people of the past and some detail comes through the academia to strike me and I think My God, she was really alive or that he was really alive.

What on earth have I done in comparison to deserve to live?

There are many words in the english language for the relationships between people; those of blood, those of emotion, those of economy. There is one missing. There is no word for the relationship that binds one to another through guilt. It is a binding ceremony indeed.

So its a new year. But it feels a bit like work in progress if you know what I mean. So the feeling of the passing of time hasn' really affected me this year. If only I couuld settle down this way for my birthdays :p

I've been reading a most marvellous book: Greece in the bronze ages. Its better than all the fantasy and alternative history I read. I really should stick more to the history genre. There is a deep feeling that surfaces through my perusal of the book. I feel drawn to the men and women of the times, their efforts, their migrations. Its amazing. For all my modern thinking and education, and for all of everyone elses, how would we ever bear a life like that? Insecurity, fear of man and animal and love for fertility, growth and renewal. And the cycles that pass, growth and fall, that passing time did not always mean growth.

I wonder how much of what we read and our culture harks back to those times and to what extent the memory lives on. Heroes, Myths, Drama, the well worn plots.

I am so very western in my culture though. Where is the bengali part of me? Where is my cultural memory? I do read about it. I think about the villages, my ancestors (recorded for 17 generations, I feel oddly happy about that. It's not pride exactly. Just a pleasant feeling and knowledge of where I come from.) But even with these, I don't really think of myself as a bengali. Unfortunately I am whatever I feel. I am the matriarch of hominids in africa. I am the woman on the raft migrations to australasia. I am the invader, the migrator, the claimer of new lands. I am the opressed, an enslaved conquered, I secrete traditions to mingle with the new masters'. I am a woman of a village, the life soul binding it and bringer of hope for a new generation to keep the culture memory alive. But now? What am I now? I am just a thinker, an existor. That was quite an accolade in the past. To be intelligent, to survive. It means less now but I will keep the compliment I have paid myself.