i smile, and smile

bugger. my blog is not a public forum for people to carry on their adoloscent back-slapping conversation.
what the fuck.
well.

am listening to floyd. fearless, de Meddle.
is it that cool to be a journalist? the facts sure do make it sound rosy. but it's only rarely, for me now, at any rate, that I am also getting a high while doing it, not merely reading about it and feeling cool.
i reach office at about 2, feeling slightly guilty about not doing stuff that needs to be taken care of at home. My supplement is off for this month, so the deal is that we have plenty of storie ready in advance. Which is not something that works really well with me. I work best under threat of time thread being stretched really taut. well, the business with the supplement apart, there's me. And my all-important spiritual well-being. Which, well has gone for the toss for the time being.
I've gotten this theory of late: what is it that turns a girl into a woman? The woman-girl thingy is so corny most of the time. But in most 'females', there is this transition, when they cease to be girls. And the journalist that I am, I report the observation without trying to analyse. Will also report opinions/reactions if get any. See, at some point or other, girls stop hoping that the dreams will come true. The sane ones, most that is, who think that they've gotta survive, that madness is a luxury they can't afford, they become really calm and maternal. Their smiles are sad, resigned. Their happiness is grown up, like they've compromised with life, chosen not to fight in order to live. They've become women. I dunno about guys. They have it as tough as the rest, I guess. Perhaps tougher. There's always an advantage in being the tortured/underprivileged group which is recognised as the suffering/has suffered group.
My friend will come rearing at this sadness theory about women. She'll talk about S.di. And yes, I oh so agree. And the friend thinks differently. It's like what Satyakida said about golamda, 'Golamdake kharap rakha strictly shakto'.

But this stasis, it's getting to me. How much can you learn out of doing something that you are not enjoying? That will be a dead kind of learning.How long will it be this?

And there's the growing up bit. I am becoming different. The JU aura is leaving me. I am getting the skin of the place of the place where I work in. Which is fine, cuz I like the people I work with etc. But there is an inner life, and that is left more and more dissatisfied. Like squeezing out a dry sponge, I keep trying to materialise my dreams for what they are worth, and they refuse to turn into reality. I want constant fun out of my work. Want to be always doing well. Nothing else will give me any peace. And when and if I have that, I shall want more. I am bursting with all the dreams I have dreamt for which I find no outlet at this moment. My demand for supreme love, brilliant success, absolute wildness. Not this stymied, tepid, lukewarm, average thing that I walk through daily.

And yet another time, I did not write what I wanted to. For all that and more, thanksssss.

(uh, interrupting for an antel observation: 'Dogs' bole gaanta pink floyd er . Reba Hore er akta series of crayon sketches dekhechhilam Seagull e: street dogs howling in the night. the song recalls the sketches. Well)