Delaying deadlines means chewing nails. Chewing nails also mean no manicure before the multiple weddings that I should not be excited about. I should be thrilled to write four and a half term papers due in less than a month. Also, what's happening in a month is one of my college friend's wedding. Same person who...well never mind, given how the world is a tiny place and she is starting a new life and having us over (also, kebabs!).
I'm in the middle of a terrible abstract, due for presentation in less than ten hours. All nighters is the old black. It's vanilla, missionary and terrible foreplay put together. I say this because in an extremely strange turn of events, a friend ended up telling me how he likes sexting. Not sure what to make of it. I told him I appreciate punnery and whatever that leads to, we were at it for a while except the bonerkiller conversation was on the side (something that involves fandom and failure, poop on fire- not sure if I am making any sense/ must thank Freud, motherfucker). It ended as abruptly as it started leaving me pour my two cents on this page, aping Carrie minus the voiceover and three 'have my back' girlfriends. Mine are there but, well, we deserve another night when I'm not due for submission to write about them.
Over the last three years my writing has become deplorable. I feel the same for my academic and personal work. I had more charm and wit at the age of 17 with badly spelt formal letters (signed off with 'cheers') as opposed to the stone cold response I write back with today. I had better taste and judgement with respect tomen boys and mostly, a very strong, tense set of control over the instincts, even if it meant killing them. Today, I consciously plan to watch six movies a week in the theatre (out of which one will be in Hindi), I drink one litre Diet Coke in one sitting while watching Hum Saath Saath Hain (hello, thesis pitch) and chew my nails.
I wonder what Freud would categorize this as. For those of you who are not aware, Freud was a misogynist motherfucker, who concluded the urban ailments were due to the anxiety caused by hanging around at the windows like prostitutes would and this affect was borne by homosexuals and bored housewives. Well, this is what my abstract should read except whatever I try to salvage out of it shall be adding shame to glory.
Convinced that I dislike the institute, the people and even the fucking psychoanalysts.
Also, curating a list of 'bonerkill' music to study to. Here's a sample from one of my favourite outfits, making a comeback with this masterstroke.
Bring out the kebabs, I've my anti-histamines ready for the season. I'm ready to face all rats in the dirt.
I'm in the middle of a terrible abstract, due for presentation in less than ten hours. All nighters is the old black. It's vanilla, missionary and terrible foreplay put together. I say this because in an extremely strange turn of events, a friend ended up telling me how he likes sexting. Not sure what to make of it. I told him I appreciate punnery and whatever that leads to, we were at it for a while except the bonerkiller conversation was on the side (something that involves fandom and failure, poop on fire- not sure if I am making any sense/ must thank Freud, motherfucker). It ended as abruptly as it started leaving me pour my two cents on this page, aping Carrie minus the voiceover and three 'have my back' girlfriends. Mine are there but, well, we deserve another night when I'm not due for submission to write about them.
Over the last three years my writing has become deplorable. I feel the same for my academic and personal work. I had more charm and wit at the age of 17 with badly spelt formal letters (signed off with 'cheers') as opposed to the stone cold response I write back with today. I had better taste and judgement with respect to
I wonder what Freud would categorize this as. For those of you who are not aware, Freud was a misogynist motherfucker, who concluded the urban ailments were due to the anxiety caused by hanging around at the windows like prostitutes would and this affect was borne by homosexuals and bored housewives. Well, this is what my abstract should read except whatever I try to salvage out of it shall be adding shame to glory.
Convinced that I dislike the institute, the people and even the fucking psychoanalysts.
Also, curating a list of 'bonerkill' music to study to. Here's a sample from one of my favourite outfits, making a comeback with this masterstroke.
Bring out the kebabs, I've my anti-histamines ready for the season. I'm ready to face all rats in the dirt.
