I think turning 2o has made me into an academic defiant of a sort. No longer do I feel the compulsion or the need to actually pursue Masters degree in anything. Life's ambition has been reduced to a room, a bed and a book with chips and maybe a can or two of Coke Zero (it's definitely better than having coffee). No longer do I feel the need to go out, write, be elated with joy to see a byline and play a bass line for a friend or so.

That said and done, Sartre left hanging on Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, I'd speak something about this irritable mood swing that I'm going through. It gets even annoying to know that there's no way to get over it (or maybe there is, I'm lazy). This, being, the ability to associate places, memories with people. In specific, the ones you're fond of, you've parted ways with and the ones you'd like to keep thinking of, for some time to come. It's really frustrating to walk down the street and to think when was the last time you came down here and then moving back in time. Going, going, gone. Back to being scrawny, curious nine year old wondering what happens to the corn cobs when the seller is away during the day and how come no one vanishes with them. Okay, I'm stretching it. I continued thinking the latter till about I was 16 (and then I just gave up). This is just one and for the sake of an example. I'm going through some hundreds at this moment. It's like a permanent feature in my head. I don't know if it's this month particularly but I'm out of the spatial and temporal zone for now and yet I'm living the 2008's Winter break trying to figure out course of life.

I think this has got to do with the fact that the end of college is drawing closer. The countdown (fuck the terminology) is ticking and we're a week away from ending first out of three terms of the academic year. Which means, I'm not only running out of time but a whole lot of things including patience to deal with insecurities and ability to take failure. The latter is something that I've been ignoring, fighting the feeling and trying to stick it back in my head like you try to stuff in your closet with clothes that you'd never wear. Only, the clothes fall back, all of them; together when you open the closet next, very innocently- unaware of the fact that you're going to be the next victim of the bundle falling right on your face. The biggest and probably literal example of this is Mathematics but there are others, that I shan't mention, since I'll get uncomfortable discussing, dealing with those monsters that reside in my head.

Two things are clear with this post, I've a lot of baggage that I'm living with- and I must shed that and that I'm clueless with what concerns my future post college. The only certain idea is that I'm failing tomorrow's assignment graciously since I've no intentions of returning back to what people perceive with their eyes shut while they listen to the Orchestra play the Seventh Symphony.

I don't remember talking about the "gig" here and so I must (to kill some more time on cyber space before contemplating reading a book). It was good, far better than rehearsals but I still our set lists were better when we were rehearsing. Which means, our set list was decided on stage. Yeah, most of the tracks were never practised. We went on stage, the vocalist/guitarist would announce the track, read the tabs and play. That was it for me, for most of it. What was really moving was the number of people who turned up. By far, I've seen at any gig I've been to and really it was jam packed. There was no space to move let alone place your order for food or beverages. Post show, a random dude actually walked up and asked if he could buy me a drink (and I mention this 'cause it has a rather creepy back story, that I won't get into). Looking back, it may sound fun but it creeped the shit out of me then. Sinner, Sinner's bestie, Madeline, Ude along with two dudes from the Band I work with turned from my side along with Motherjane, her boy and couple of their friends. I'd say more than decent turn out for the kind of music I thought we're playing. I suppose, it sells and we've no option but to continue making it.

I've slacked off Sartre for over an hour. It's taken me immense time to write something, as much as this. I started off at a very sorry note and ending on a happy one. Ask no questions and hear no lies. I've chewed my nails and remains of which are hanging loose on the skin. Can't possibly type any more crap.