'Head Clutch' is the desi version of 'Face Palm'

You took the weather with you. In what was clearly an attempt to draw a bit of romance (the bad type) and pain (the good type) from the already desperate situation, the world decided to greet my loneliness with gray skies and pointless rain. Every morning is colder than the one before, every evening, the walk home is longer. How then, am I supposed to stay calm, drive carefully? How then, am I not supposed to dwell on all things miserable while smoking incessantly when I know, I know it makes my sadness so much more than just a state of mine - it gives me personality. At least I can hide behind that familiar wall, go back to the person I was long before we met, the little girl with her big words and increasingly self-destructive spirals. ("I will drink the hell out of this vodka-tonic!")

I sometimes wonder if I fooled myself into stability. How did I manage to make sense of all those things, put them in little IKEA organizers and pile 'em high (watch 'em fly). I also wonder how much of my current mess, a return to old-familiar-form, is of my making. Did I just miss the tension, and this is a test run to see if I'm any better at handling it? Or maybe this is life - cyclical in it's spreading of bullshit and hopelessness comma helplessness. If so, then hello! It's been a while. Help yourself to the Medoc. I'll be outside, being all dramatic and shit. I'm sure you're used to that.

But you, I forgot this was meant to be about you. Wait, let's leave that to another time. Can we, for one minute, just focus on me? Sorry, does that sound too shrill? I'm kidding. You are the reason, or maybe not the main reason, but the catalyst that has led to this faithless departure from normalcy (where is a synonym when you need one?). But I don't think that could have led to this, to be honest. Maybe it wasn't a departure from contentment but actually a panicked run-for-your-life move towards self-preservation. And why should anyone apologize anymore for being shamelessly self-indulgent. Pragmatic is for day jobs and therapists' offices. As for me, I'm just happy (Gosh yaa, I just want to be happy) to smoke furtively and watch gray disappear into gray.