Imperfection

Sullen, as I type this, I break out in blotches. I resemble a prune.
It is imperfection that ails me, I'm quietly seething. And its the lack of constructive appeal that ails me. Over the past month, there has been hilarity, a set of ups and downs, and strangely piquing things that have spewed resentment.

I reflect on a few questions. If there was a recipe to cure my issues, I would have found it by now. I am but a wanderer, something of a nomad with some emotional damage. It's never easy, it makes me tired and not wanting to do the same thing again. I think of the possibilities and the feeling that comes with it. But then, who are others to label you as such?

I have things to do and accomplish and it's just not going to happen like this. Everything has earned its place in an abode of memories, a haven where I store them as collectibles.

I seek to be free of the guilt that comes with anything that's broken and can't be fixed. But there is a shadow of doubt too, it would eat me alive if ever the opportunity arose. Memories are like mirrors, for the more you look into them, the more you notice the little things, the subtler nuances.

"All the crazy shit I did tonight, they will be the best memories…"

Back After a Spell...

Its been a wholesome month with a couple of ups and downs. I picked a couple of hobbies like cooking, reading and chose to leisurely spend time on them. Yet, I was not entirely happy. It's the lack of something important, something that had gone awry (and still is) that bothers me.

Most of the days I couldn't "read" without consternation that marked the beginnings of early depression and mood swings. I was never perfect and I never thought I was a delicate, floral, floating angel sent down from heaven. I'd two horns and a devil's forked-tail where there ought to have been only a halo. I pulled through this defiant, frustrated state of being when I showed interest in something to do. I slept, ate, offered prayers and stuck to yoga and meditation on an almost-daily basis.

Coming to Sherlock, Season 2. The attention to detail in the role of the Dominatrix (the belgravian scandal) and operation H.O.U.N.D. (the hound of the baskervilles) is a very good direction indeed. The scenes are well executed and different from what Arthur Conan Doyle had originally intended. A modernized variant of Sherlock Holmes.

This season ends with Sherlock's run-in with Moriarty and his attempted manipulation with Sherlock's career. The last we see of the hero is his short appearance at the graveyard where "he" is buried. Watson pays his respects, sheds a few tears and leaves not knowing the real Sherlock is alive. Hats off to those death-defying stunts. I wonder how they're going to pull this through, explain they must. Awaiting Season 3.

The last of the Christopher Paolini books - "Inheritance" was a good read. The dragons and their riders, the elves, and all creatures foul and ethereal were central to the plot of the story. The ending was unlike the other books of love and lore that I'd read before. (Warning: Spoilers ahead). I was reminded of JKR and Tolkein. No doubt Paolini has been influenced by them, but he writes in a classy style, unique only to him.   

Eragon and Saphira take leave from a Galbatorix-free world of riches and recognition to train a brood of dragon eggs that have been stowed away and hidden in time. Sweet. Arya, the elf whom Eragon had taken to, becomes Queen to elvish-folk, the demise of Queen Islanzadi in the great battle leads to this. And a third dragon egg hatches and changes are introduced in the governing of the peoples.  

And coming to the semester results which were on the !3th (unlucky day indeed), they were abysmal but I cleared all... I will update more soon. It's getting rather difficult with a limited connectivity. I can't blog avidly from a blackberry. They should introduce BB blogging app's as well, its only available on android these days. :/

So till the next time, may the Force be with you. *facepalm*