This is what a writing job apparently does to you. You keep writing all day. Instead of getting sick, a salvation point arrives beyond which you get highly addicted to what you do. Your hands etch for typing in. Your fingers long for the touch of a pen. That is where exactly I am now.
Writing has been an inseparable part of my life for 2 years, more or less. Be it technical, managerial, personal, whatever; there were only few days when I slept without actually writing something. Thats the only worthy thing I notice when I look back.
I know I am so boring and predictable. All the time, I think about myself (rest of the time, about her), blabber about myself & end up writing about myself. Unlike other bloggers who write about their cities, their recent expeditions, ongoing social activity etc, I am far too refrained from all that.
The weekend's fever is already spreading like a wild fire. A couple of my colleagues made up sick faces & left. There's not much work to do. I folded up by shirt's hands & sit n stare. Observing the 4 walls of my room, trying to pluck out stretched edges of my fibred desk.
All I am doing is trying to get a life, as they suggested. One is already a corporate employee circling between malakpet and hi-tech city every day. One's waiting for an entry permit to Australia so that he can embrace the love of his life. People are in pursuit of getting a life. On a contrary note, 'getting a life' sounds frenzy but it ain't as fancy as it sounds.
I funnily throw away my hands in wonder looking at myself in mirror with a formal shirt neatly tucked in my trousers with a matching belt and matching shoes. As I always declare, Life's always brighter on the other side. When I was jobless, I dreamt of being this Deekshith. And when I am this now, I so want to go back to those good old jobless days which revolved around deserted cafes.
Life has become busy. She demands time. My mother does too. My dad wants me to be at home, when not at office. I satisfy one & others start complaining. Life was far good when we did not have mobile phones and mood swings.
As somebody said, 'Life was simple & good when Apple was just a fruit.'
Writing has been an inseparable part of my life for 2 years, more or less. Be it technical, managerial, personal, whatever; there were only few days when I slept without actually writing something. Thats the only worthy thing I notice when I look back.
I know I am so boring and predictable. All the time, I think about myself (rest of the time, about her), blabber about myself & end up writing about myself. Unlike other bloggers who write about their cities, their recent expeditions, ongoing social activity etc, I am far too refrained from all that.
The weekend's fever is already spreading like a wild fire. A couple of my colleagues made up sick faces & left. There's not much work to do. I folded up by shirt's hands & sit n stare. Observing the 4 walls of my room, trying to pluck out stretched edges of my fibred desk.
All I am doing is trying to get a life, as they suggested. One is already a corporate employee circling between malakpet and hi-tech city every day. One's waiting for an entry permit to Australia so that he can embrace the love of his life. People are in pursuit of getting a life. On a contrary note, 'getting a life' sounds frenzy but it ain't as fancy as it sounds.
I funnily throw away my hands in wonder looking at myself in mirror with a formal shirt neatly tucked in my trousers with a matching belt and matching shoes. As I always declare, Life's always brighter on the other side. When I was jobless, I dreamt of being this Deekshith. And when I am this now, I so want to go back to those good old jobless days which revolved around deserted cafes.
Life has become busy. She demands time. My mother does too. My dad wants me to be at home, when not at office. I satisfy one & others start complaining. Life was far good when we did not have mobile phones and mood swings.
As somebody said, 'Life was simple & good when Apple was just a fruit.'
lol, for some reason reminds me of a poem in venna muddalu.
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