Sometimes..

 I realized a while ago (I mean A WHILE ago) that no one really reads my blog so I don’t need to give a fuck about that I write and whether it is presentable or not, literarily or otherwise.

So I just moved to this 200 year old house which used to be a carriage house for horses in the 19^th century! Its old and charming and I hope the horses had fun. It has these tall ceilings and an old world charm that reminds me of my grandparents although they weren’t that old. Yup they are no more. They passed away in 2011 taking a piece of me with them. A huge piece. Back to the house, which is my home now. I set it up and felt good about it. I oddly take pleasure out of mundane things like that. My kitchen, my bathroom, my vacant living room and my sparsely decorated 2 bedrooms look perfect…to me. I feel like now I could invite all the people in the world and make them sit on the floor since I have no couches or chairs and serve them my specialty aka Indian tea. They would like it but not their hurting butts so much, I guess.

Traveling, shifting, moving has been a way of life but each time it fills my stomach up with horrible nervous knots. I feel the inertia holding me back, not allowing me to take that final step where I would say good bye to all the memories made in that place and start pretending to be excited about a new life altogether. I have lost count of how many houses I have lived in or moved out from. It’s nomadic but strangely familiar. This routine has become a house for me. Ok wait that requires explaining. Basically in certain movies, sometimes an inanimate object or a place becomes another character; in the same manner my nomadic life has become a place to live at, for me. Well I don’t think I explained that very well but since no one is reading and giving a fuck, it’s alright.

I wanted to write something yesterday and thought will write it, the first thing I get up in the morning but now I can’t recall what it was about. By the way I am typing away furiously in Word than on Blogspot because guess what the new house has its internet all screwed up which resulted in having time to jot down my abstract thoughts. I even found time to read books. Yes, it’s amazing to have no internet but really..actually not. I wanna see my worldcup matches and other crap on the laptop that I devote my precious time to.

I wanted to talk about the brevity of life a little bit. Yes it is going to go into the existentially fraught thoughts. So embrace yourself. If anyone is reading this and has reached this point, please read the next sentence. Leave a comment asshole, so that I know you just didn’t electronically stalk me while conveniently taking a glimpse into my soul without my knowledge! Its creepy as hell!!

Where was I? You know what, let’s not talk about existentialism right now. It’s depressing as shit. But you know the other thing I realized? That blogging is so underrated. I mean you have this amazing piece of tool (the word tool makes me giggle! ) that helps you regurgitate your puke all over the world like you just don’t care. Its liberating as fuck, isn’t it?! Almost like taking a dip in a secluded lake when no one is looking, no one can ogle, no one can small talk with you and it’s the lake and you. I love finding simple small pleasures like that. Blogging needs to be a character of its own in a movie where blogging can think out loud and tell the blogger       “ seriously hun, you want me to showcase this piece of crap to the world? Mm hmmm”.  I think I just made blogging a sassy African-American old lady!

 I have been blogging for over 5 years now and it’s been wonderful. I am so grateful to whoever introduced me to it. My short term memory loss doesn’t allow me the privilege of remembering situations, dates, faces, names and other such memory trivia. None the less, I am grateful to you my friend.

This house inspired me to write. I can’t stop thinking about that specific old world where there was no electricity and there were horse driven carriages. I mean the Victorian era. There is an old mansion nearby, to which my place acted as an ancillary horse carriage place. I wonder who lived there. I wonder about the problems of all those people who passed away worrying about building a mansion and a house for horses. Did they worry about food, healthcare, water, utilities, education, partner in life, entertainment etc? Did they know they would, one day, not exist and all this hard work would be passed on to a babbling renter like me? Think not.

Ok lost my train of thought.