joy

The deck I created went on to distribution to the client without a single change. Not one!

Wheeling wonderful world.
Screaming sheer joy in my head

Out of my skin

I am a tree and I stand before a human being. She has given me mobility and vitality. She made it possible for our kind to come free of our passivity and the latent anger has come growing out of our hearts. We have killed every one of them and she stand before me wishing for her continued life. I am thankful for that which she gave us in a moment of feeling and love. Yet she is one of them and I kill her.

I cannot help but feel his rage above. I am him. And she is me. Yet I would kill her.

I am feeling strangely restless and moved. My head is full of history, the celtic missionaries, the frankish kings, the kingdom of Al-andalus. I am also ashamed to say I only today realised the actual dates of birth of Islam. But it's only adding to the whirring of the brain cogs.
My sister is through to the second bartimaeus book and she asked me if nathaniel turns evil. I replied cautiously but my voice broke. I can't think of those books without a surge of emotion.
Finally I can't help but think that I am too nice to the undeserving. And even while I think it I can't change the way I feel. I may flare up at the moment of irritation but my follow through in resentment and anger is weak. And while I am rationally telling myself that my emotions are irrational, irrationally, I can't change those emotions one whit.
So you see, my head is very full today. On top of all this I am actively working. I feel like it's about to explode (a non-headache metaphor mind you. this is a physically painless process and is only mentally disorienting)

I'm feeling crabby, my head hurts and I'm tired. There are too many negative thoughts in my mind. I am worried, envious, upset, sneaky, cross, slothful

I think its time to sleep

I complimented my PL today on a presentation and immediately felt revulsed. It felt so wrong, so sycophantic. I'm shuddering. I had to insert a cynical comment after it... how to sleep otherwise?

Thank god for civillisation.
Wake up in the morning in a bed (most ppl didn't really have raised beds till after the industrial revolution)
Bathe, brush teeth, groom self. (people bathed once a year, toothbrush? and moisturiser was not freely available.)

I could go on and on.. I could lie down and want to die. And being female I am triply, quadruply glad for modern era of comforts. May it never end.

There was a get together of Booth ppl today. I left early to get some work done. I like getting work done and I didn't mind missing the networking and alumni at all. What kind of an MBA grad will I be? I love my work though. I don't tire of it at all. I want to seem responsible and worthy. Love me back, please?

I wait online and wonder if I should message people. And then I wonder what I'd say if they messaged me. I think so much about it that I don't click and I turn away to another tab. But sometimes, while the tab is open somewhere while I work I'm thinking, 'should I chat? I shouldn't' Finally, I get tired by all these derivatives of a simple act and I'll snap and shut the tab.

I've been kind of low, since I've heard about Brutus. For a day or so I was really miserable, like I didn't know I could be. It finally dawned on me that it could hurt more to be left behind than to die oneself. I'm so afraid of dealth that I couldn't imagine this before.

I flew down on the weekend. Ready to see him the one last time. The old rascal is hanging on to life, cheerful even in his last gasp. I cried every time he tried to do something normal. But he's being spunky. And thank God he's not in any pain. My beautiful waggy dog. The best dog there ever was. Our Brutus.

Keening

The burden of grief is an intensely personal thing. I don't really know if I'm fine. But I just really want to find that out myself.

Bloggy, I've told you often about my fears but all that time I was borrowing trouble. I was hoping when the time came I'd bear up better. I don't think I am.

Writing is faintly a narcissistic activity, at least for me. When I read back on anything I write, I am always trying to capture the mood I was in at that time. Whats the deal with that? What's done is done and I know myself well enough to make sure I learn from my experiences. Is there really a need to dwell on past good or gory myself in old agonies?

Bloggy, I've been two timing you. I had a little diary I wrote in every now and then (less often than in you, I promise and not neaaaaarly as long). But I found myself reading it over and it was a faintly pleasurable exercise. As soon as I realised it, I was disgusted with my self obsession. So I killed that diary.

You're my one true love

Trinity

It's getting late and my lazy self wants to go to bed.
My better self is sitting and trying to get over my incompetence
And my incompetence is sitting by looking on apologetically.

The need of the hour is really to throw the kitchen sink and all into the work and not to throw up the shovel. Excuse my mixed metaphors