I am done with your consumeristic heart and your Black Friday's. I will leave you again for a month long stint in India, where the vegetables are tiny, but real. I hate writing with an audience in my head.
I really do. Hence, I write for a blog that no one reads. Writing is a good escape from long days and weary thoughts.
I want to go home.
But. I don't want to take my messy little head with me. With it's unruly hair that the humidity will fuck up and it's jumble of thoughts that ruminate on and on.
I am very. Restless. Yes, that is what I am. Something, or someone, must happen soon.
I realized that our little Apeejay School trio is all aboard on the PhD bandwagon. Well. ladies, who would have thunk? Except Suchi, but she is sort of doing one, in her own special way. Cue, ironic laugh, perfected over many conversations.
I write with emoticons. I am that person.
Jiro, as in Jiro dreams of Sushi tells us that we can never go back. I agree with all my heart. There is no going back. Not to Bombay, not to Gainesville, not to perfect relationships. Bye bye love, Hello uncertainty. There are only friends who walk with you from one place to the next. A mobile home of sorts, since you no longer have a real geographic destination to call home anymore.
Babe, I'm gonna leave you.
Read this. If you are in your twenties, your career is presently an inside joke and you get mad at the world sometimes, just read it.
The F.R.I.E.N.D.S theme song. I am living it every day.
Will anybody be around in Bombay this December? I will buy you beer, I promise.