Meaningless, truthless, valueless existence.
Why do we exist? Are we an elaborately planned section of a larger cosmos or are simply the result of a fortunate (or unfortunate) amalgam of universal variables?
Is God a supreme creator or is he the product of minds unable to comprehend an alien and ever-changing environment?
If nihilism were to be accepted as a constant, as a fact, would religion survive? The basic tenet of Hinduism states that there are certain principles and truths that transcend all time, space and existence. There are definite rights and wrongs.
The laws of nature, as we observe them, belie this very tenet. If death is a requirement for life, is death at any circumstance wrong? If life for one at the expense of another may be termed personal gain, is it then wrong to kill for material objects and gain?
If Nature is right and holds the ultimate way to Truth, if the wild is the only true home of unspoiled, uncorrupted morality, have the rules then been corrupted by men?
If loss is the primal fuel for all progress and continuity of life, why is this loss subject to moral policing and penalty in human life? Have we twisted then, the basic fundamental blocks of life in order to protect ourselves?
Would the incentive to kill or rob or to commit "evil" as described by humans be lesser, were the laws of nature and their essential anaesthetic properties allowed a free reign in the world, as it was meant to be?
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Bearish on the Markets
It sounds a tad anti-patriotic, especially with the thought of small time investors, who (very unwisely, I might add) bet their last remaining shirt on the market, before digging into their child's piggy bank for more, to pray for the Market to crash further. However, as always, Mammom wins over the milk of human kindness, which tends to surge sub-optimally with the mention and glint of filthy lucre in the eyes.
Thus it is, that unlike others, who actually have money stuck in the sinking abyss of the Indian Stock Market, I wait with bated breath and greedy eyes for the market to fall further... each point is as the tinkling of a hundred purses of gold; for you see, it is my stated and yet underhand intention to follow my unfortunate peers into the market. The difference, as they say, lies in the timing.
For you see, with the market on such a low, millions of panicky aforementioned investors (having bet their last shirt and child's pig) are selling their treaures for any price they get. They further sink the market, and I get better opportunities to bite it in the ribs and stay with it for the rise.
The risk of course is that it won't rise; however fundamentals say that the Indian Economy has not undergone tectonic shifts in the recent past and my intestines tell me (purely in the spirit of friendship and co-operation) that it isn't over-valued either. The foreign investment continues to pour in, the students continue (at least till the time the ceiling falls in and the Reservation Bill is passed and yes, I am still sore on the issue) to excel and the growth continues skywards.
Thus it is, that unlike others, who actually have money stuck in the sinking abyss of the Indian Stock Market, I wait with bated breath and greedy eyes for the market to fall further... each point is as the tinkling of a hundred purses of gold; for you see, it is my stated and yet underhand intention to follow my unfortunate peers into the market. The difference, as they say, lies in the timing.
For you see, with the market on such a low, millions of panicky aforementioned investors (having bet their last shirt and child's pig) are selling their treaures for any price they get. They further sink the market, and I get better opportunities to bite it in the ribs and stay with it for the rise.
The risk of course is that it won't rise; however fundamentals say that the Indian Economy has not undergone tectonic shifts in the recent past and my intestines tell me (purely in the spirit of friendship and co-operation) that it isn't over-valued either. The foreign investment continues to pour in, the students continue (at least till the time the ceiling falls in and the Reservation Bill is passed and yes, I am still sore on the issue) to excel and the growth continues skywards.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
From the very edge of reason
As I sit at my desk twiddling a dreary pair of thumbs (I am forced to twiddle, I might add, by the cruel necessity of not drowning under a largish volume of work), I am thinking to myself.
Of anger and frustration. Of worklessness and hidden unemployment. The time has come, (as the Walrus would undoubtedly have said, had he cast a jaundiced eye over current proceedings) to speak of many things.
Of reservations and offices of profit. Of worthy Presidents and unworthy rulers.
Much has been said of the reservations that I wish not to repeat. Indeed, had I not been afflicted with the malaise so widespread in our worthy nation, unemployment (albeit disguised), I would scarcely have known what has been said. However, struck as I am with all the work I am not doing and exhausted with the pressure I am not under, I resort, as a peaceful alternative, to reading the papers.
And thus am I made aware of how much this country desires me not to live in its bosom and watch it grow. Probably one of a dying species (much as the Yangtze river Dolphin), my future plans until recently held no promise of foreign lands (except as a recreational side plan); I was content to nestle comfortably where I was born and to look upon my countrymen and wonder why there were so many of them. I may even have done my bit to add to the growth of the country (always hoping of course that the people who employed me had WORK for me).
Sadly however, the more my forced leave from work continues, the faster grows the conviction that this country is sending out a message. Until recently, it was believed that the brain drain of India was ebbing, or better, was actually reversing itself. The Deans of foreign universities pined and misery marked them for its own. They panted for Indian students as the Hart does for cooling streams when heated in chase.You could veritably see brains, bulging at the seems (fed no doubt by healthy sustained doses of fish), scaling walls and jumping hoops to study in India and then join the corporate success stories bouncing off the walls.
Now however, all you see is a sea of justifiably red faces. Remarkably silly look all the wall scalers and hoop jumpers, for it seems that all one had to do was be born to the right parents. The fish grizzle in their graves; their blatant trickery and thievery has been exposed to public scorn and malcontent.
It is now known to one and all, that golluping volumes of fish and bulging the brain is clearly not the way to go. The path to success lies solely with having been oppressed and dominated in the centuries past. As this route has now been closed to the laggers and waiters amongst us, the last benchers in the line of exploitation (yet again in the centuries past), the early worms grin with contentment lazing on their faces.
The laggers are not required. Much like the Indian Vicious Cycle, India is a land of the exploited and the oppressed and any efforts, howsoever sneaky, to prove otherwise will be as firmly squashed as a pair of fleas in an over-stuffed performing circus.
Any glimmer of success story will be firmly crushed and oppressed to return it to a state of exploitation and you guessed it, oppression. The message is clear; unless you were oppressed and exploited, unless your forefathers wallowed in poverty and suffered unmentionable qualms, this land is not your land. A new generation awakens indeed.
A new generation of unsettled and unwanted Indians, who are no longer wanted by their country; they are to have neither education nor any jobs nor any piece of the joy of living in their country. The punishment is eternal; and generational, it shall pass from them to their children, till someday, some politician will realise that they too are oppressed. Then finally, finally, they shall be welcomed back into the fold; as true blue Indians.
Of anger and frustration. Of worklessness and hidden unemployment. The time has come, (as the Walrus would undoubtedly have said, had he cast a jaundiced eye over current proceedings) to speak of many things.
Of reservations and offices of profit. Of worthy Presidents and unworthy rulers.
Much has been said of the reservations that I wish not to repeat. Indeed, had I not been afflicted with the malaise so widespread in our worthy nation, unemployment (albeit disguised), I would scarcely have known what has been said. However, struck as I am with all the work I am not doing and exhausted with the pressure I am not under, I resort, as a peaceful alternative, to reading the papers.
And thus am I made aware of how much this country desires me not to live in its bosom and watch it grow. Probably one of a dying species (much as the Yangtze river Dolphin), my future plans until recently held no promise of foreign lands (except as a recreational side plan); I was content to nestle comfortably where I was born and to look upon my countrymen and wonder why there were so many of them. I may even have done my bit to add to the growth of the country (always hoping of course that the people who employed me had WORK for me).
Sadly however, the more my forced leave from work continues, the faster grows the conviction that this country is sending out a message. Until recently, it was believed that the brain drain of India was ebbing, or better, was actually reversing itself. The Deans of foreign universities pined and misery marked them for its own. They panted for Indian students as the Hart does for cooling streams when heated in chase.You could veritably see brains, bulging at the seems (fed no doubt by healthy sustained doses of fish), scaling walls and jumping hoops to study in India and then join the corporate success stories bouncing off the walls.
Now however, all you see is a sea of justifiably red faces. Remarkably silly look all the wall scalers and hoop jumpers, for it seems that all one had to do was be born to the right parents. The fish grizzle in their graves; their blatant trickery and thievery has been exposed to public scorn and malcontent.
It is now known to one and all, that golluping volumes of fish and bulging the brain is clearly not the way to go. The path to success lies solely with having been oppressed and dominated in the centuries past. As this route has now been closed to the laggers and waiters amongst us, the last benchers in the line of exploitation (yet again in the centuries past), the early worms grin with contentment lazing on their faces.
The laggers are not required. Much like the Indian Vicious Cycle, India is a land of the exploited and the oppressed and any efforts, howsoever sneaky, to prove otherwise will be as firmly squashed as a pair of fleas in an over-stuffed performing circus.
Any glimmer of success story will be firmly crushed and oppressed to return it to a state of exploitation and you guessed it, oppression. The message is clear; unless you were oppressed and exploited, unless your forefathers wallowed in poverty and suffered unmentionable qualms, this land is not your land. A new generation awakens indeed.
A new generation of unsettled and unwanted Indians, who are no longer wanted by their country; they are to have neither education nor any jobs nor any piece of the joy of living in their country. The punishment is eternal; and generational, it shall pass from them to their children, till someday, some politician will realise that they too are oppressed. Then finally, finally, they shall be welcomed back into the fold; as true blue Indians.
Monday, May 08, 2006
The Indian Vicious Cycle
So another week begins, and its monday again. Talk about double whammies.
What is it with Monday Morning Blues anyway? Methinks it probably all harks back to the dreaded dark ages when all children of a certain age were herded brutally into groups and sent off en mass to a daily holocaust. Two days off (if you was a beejeezes like me, only ONE measly day off) and back to the torture chambers. That feeling of waking in the morning and knowing for sure you couldn't spend it sittin on your fanny, or running circles around yer repenting parents was enough to tweeze the jollies out of you.
Now its a little different of course. Over the years, its become YOUR fault. Afterall, they gave you all the choices didn't they? Where to study, what to study what job to apply for... still in the end, one gets a hairy feeling that somewhere one was tricked. One was eerily bamboozled out of being a worthless bozo and still every monday one gets that feeling... when all young people of a certain age are herded brutally into groups and sent off en mass to a daily holocaust. Two days off (he he, even beejeezes like me get lucky) and back to face the fire. Just now, there's no rules and there's no authorities to go squeeling to. No more parents thundering in, spitting brimstone and fire mined from the core of the earth; no more quivering teachers shaking in their largely ugly and yet practical shoes. Yeesh. And to think our parents nurtured dreams and hopes that someday we would end up like this.
Almost seems like they were brainwashed into it too. Wonder where the cycle started (here's an Indian pride moment; we love our vicious cycles. How many times did one hear in school the description of the uglies of ugly and gory situations and how we've sat on them for over half a century, with the teacher finishing with the final gloating flourish... a Vicious Cycle!!! Honour of honours ladies and gents, we have among us our esteemed guest, the newly discovered and historically pampered, all new, improved, a fully fresh, Vicious Cycle!!!)?
Well, off we go then, to join the teeming millions (in our case probably billions) and begin a whole new week.
Yuck.
What is it with Monday Morning Blues anyway? Methinks it probably all harks back to the dreaded dark ages when all children of a certain age were herded brutally into groups and sent off en mass to a daily holocaust. Two days off (if you was a beejeezes like me, only ONE measly day off) and back to the torture chambers. That feeling of waking in the morning and knowing for sure you couldn't spend it sittin on your fanny, or running circles around yer repenting parents was enough to tweeze the jollies out of you.
Now its a little different of course. Over the years, its become YOUR fault. Afterall, they gave you all the choices didn't they? Where to study, what to study what job to apply for... still in the end, one gets a hairy feeling that somewhere one was tricked. One was eerily bamboozled out of being a worthless bozo and still every monday one gets that feeling... when all young people of a certain age are herded brutally into groups and sent off en mass to a daily holocaust. Two days off (he he, even beejeezes like me get lucky) and back to face the fire. Just now, there's no rules and there's no authorities to go squeeling to. No more parents thundering in, spitting brimstone and fire mined from the core of the earth; no more quivering teachers shaking in their largely ugly and yet practical shoes. Yeesh. And to think our parents nurtured dreams and hopes that someday we would end up like this.
Almost seems like they were brainwashed into it too. Wonder where the cycle started (here's an Indian pride moment; we love our vicious cycles. How many times did one hear in school the description of the uglies of ugly and gory situations and how we've sat on them for over half a century, with the teacher finishing with the final gloating flourish... a Vicious Cycle!!! Honour of honours ladies and gents, we have among us our esteemed guest, the newly discovered and historically pampered, all new, improved, a fully fresh, Vicious Cycle!!!)?
Well, off we go then, to join the teeming millions (in our case probably billions) and begin a whole new week.
Yuck.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Monday, August 22, 2005
Of diets and salad leaves...
Ah, the joy of being one with the world! Of knowing that I am one of the teeming masses, unhappy with their looks (whether benign or malignant) and having sworn to resolve the issue by hook or by crook, embarked upon a journey of self sacrifice and will powering.
Gandhi would've been proud I say. We should all have been recruits in the hunger abhiyans by now, serving to save the nation as well as our sad behinds. Sigh. To have been born in the right age.
What can I say about Salad leaves that hasn't already been said? That they're green and go well only with substances destined to destroy the very reason d'etre of the former? Salads and dressings go together like... well, cheese and lasagna. One cannot simply take one and separate from the other and expect them to like it, can one?
And yet after years of looking at the decrepit (they are rotted to perfection you know... the rotter the better) and harmless looking hunks of yellow (or blue depending on the type), one wonders. Does cheese kill? Would the salad be worth having without all the calories?
The apes did us a bad turn the day they Became. Who ever heard of an ape looking at a fat behind (or befront for that matter) and going on a diet? I have it on good authority that in the apes (as they exist today) the fatter the better. No slim shadies for them.
On the other hand, there's always the option of exercise. Swingin from the trees is all fine, but getting on a runway that never goes anywhere (or a pair of wheels that do nothing much else) is far too symbolic of the human tragedy to be bearable. That and its boring.
Now if there was a way to watch the calories off through television, there'd be a glut of beauties sittin in their parlours watching the neighborhood saas and bahus gain weight.
Or for the hepper vein (such as I, I might add), watch the friendly not so neighborhood blonde bombshells (puleeze, all serials HAVE to have one of those; its like the K factor) gettin some weight where it DOESN'T count :D
Or maybe the Victorians had it right. Fat babes, with delicate sensibilities to boot. No one expected THOSE prima donnas to work without a bevvy of maids and a barrel of smelling salts. Kept the men on their working boots and good for them too.
As I said earlier... to have been born in the right age. I ain't fat for my age; I'm behind the times.
Gandhi would've been proud I say. We should all have been recruits in the hunger abhiyans by now, serving to save the nation as well as our sad behinds. Sigh. To have been born in the right age.
What can I say about Salad leaves that hasn't already been said? That they're green and go well only with substances destined to destroy the very reason d'etre of the former? Salads and dressings go together like... well, cheese and lasagna. One cannot simply take one and separate from the other and expect them to like it, can one?
And yet after years of looking at the decrepit (they are rotted to perfection you know... the rotter the better) and harmless looking hunks of yellow (or blue depending on the type), one wonders. Does cheese kill? Would the salad be worth having without all the calories?
The apes did us a bad turn the day they Became. Who ever heard of an ape looking at a fat behind (or befront for that matter) and going on a diet? I have it on good authority that in the apes (as they exist today) the fatter the better. No slim shadies for them.
On the other hand, there's always the option of exercise. Swingin from the trees is all fine, but getting on a runway that never goes anywhere (or a pair of wheels that do nothing much else) is far too symbolic of the human tragedy to be bearable. That and its boring.
Now if there was a way to watch the calories off through television, there'd be a glut of beauties sittin in their parlours watching the neighborhood saas and bahus gain weight.
Or for the hepper vein (such as I, I might add), watch the friendly not so neighborhood blonde bombshells (puleeze, all serials HAVE to have one of those; its like the K factor) gettin some weight where it DOESN'T count :D
Or maybe the Victorians had it right. Fat babes, with delicate sensibilities to boot. No one expected THOSE prima donnas to work without a bevvy of maids and a barrel of smelling salts. Kept the men on their working boots and good for them too.
As I said earlier... to have been born in the right age. I ain't fat for my age; I'm behind the times.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Once upon a time in a land far far away...
Yep, here I am again. And yes, I know that I seem to be making a habit of saying that.
Another day at the office and another step towards total world domination through the convoluted yet deceptively simple device of crosswords. The scum won't even know what hit them and soon I shall have every single person hooked on to them, and shall then commence to manipulate their will to my bidding. Huuaaa haaa haaa haa(that's my evil world domination plan laugh by the by).
Yes, it is obvious that I haven't much to do isn't it? I suppose this is a rather damaging sin to confess to, considering that prospective employers prowl the net looking for the slightest evidence of neglect and slacking down. Sigh. I'll never be employed again.
As life chugs on, emitting the occasional grunt and clicking its claws at passersby, I fail to understand the logic behind it all. What's the point? Please note how bravely I have so far kept off the "Why are we here" topic that seems to have no dearth of takers in the market.
However, that, for me is an open and shut case (simple decision according to the crossy). Here's what happened... pay close attention now, this concerns the holy as well as the unholy dead who preceded us and left this bag of **** for us to handle on a daily basis.
Once upon a time, a long long time ago, there were a bunch of apes (not grapes mind you, though I do like those.. hmmm, long time no grape) who lived happily among their trees and a far greater variety of flora and fauna than present on Earth today.
Then one day, one ape hit a rock (purely symbolic, simply to denote a turning point in the story, he may as well have turned over in his sleep, though that hasnt the drama of hitting a painful rock) and his genes mutated. Note that all simplifications are for the good of fellow mankind, of whom I have a low opinion as far as the intellect polls go.
And the ape began to BE. Suddenly he was no longer just an ape. He was an Ape and he Knew. And He began his quest to discover what else He could Know and to learn what He Was. The more He Knew, the better equipped he was to lord over the apes and the more the gene mutated.
Soon, the apes were all gone and all that were left were the Apes. And these Apes soon realised that they could do without working, without swinging from trees and could quite well live in proper caves, thank you very much.
Thus began an era of decadence and invention which has never seen an end, even to this day, and the Apes have left their simple lives far far behind. They now live in a world where layer upon layer of artifice has been added to their days, to find them something to do, for them to feel needed and wanted and fulfilled.
And in all the world, with the technology and the advancement and the wars and the awards and money and power, not a single Ape survives that doesn't really wish simply to swing from the trees again and simple be an ape as all were meant to be.
Off to dream of my tree,
The Ed.
Another day at the office and another step towards total world domination through the convoluted yet deceptively simple device of crosswords. The scum won't even know what hit them and soon I shall have every single person hooked on to them, and shall then commence to manipulate their will to my bidding. Huuaaa haaa haaa haa(that's my evil world domination plan laugh by the by).
Yes, it is obvious that I haven't much to do isn't it? I suppose this is a rather damaging sin to confess to, considering that prospective employers prowl the net looking for the slightest evidence of neglect and slacking down. Sigh. I'll never be employed again.
As life chugs on, emitting the occasional grunt and clicking its claws at passersby, I fail to understand the logic behind it all. What's the point? Please note how bravely I have so far kept off the "Why are we here" topic that seems to have no dearth of takers in the market.
However, that, for me is an open and shut case (simple decision according to the crossy). Here's what happened... pay close attention now, this concerns the holy as well as the unholy dead who preceded us and left this bag of **** for us to handle on a daily basis.
Once upon a time, a long long time ago, there were a bunch of apes (not grapes mind you, though I do like those.. hmmm, long time no grape) who lived happily among their trees and a far greater variety of flora and fauna than present on Earth today.
Then one day, one ape hit a rock (purely symbolic, simply to denote a turning point in the story, he may as well have turned over in his sleep, though that hasnt the drama of hitting a painful rock) and his genes mutated. Note that all simplifications are for the good of fellow mankind, of whom I have a low opinion as far as the intellect polls go.
And the ape began to BE. Suddenly he was no longer just an ape. He was an Ape and he Knew. And He began his quest to discover what else He could Know and to learn what He Was. The more He Knew, the better equipped he was to lord over the apes and the more the gene mutated.
Soon, the apes were all gone and all that were left were the Apes. And these Apes soon realised that they could do without working, without swinging from trees and could quite well live in proper caves, thank you very much.
Thus began an era of decadence and invention which has never seen an end, even to this day, and the Apes have left their simple lives far far behind. They now live in a world where layer upon layer of artifice has been added to their days, to find them something to do, for them to feel needed and wanted and fulfilled.
And in all the world, with the technology and the advancement and the wars and the awards and money and power, not a single Ape survives that doesn't really wish simply to swing from the trees again and simple be an ape as all were meant to be.
Off to dream of my tree,
The Ed.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Vanquished
So I'm back.
Much as I thought that living my life vicariously, or rather, letting people do so through me (??) would go against all that was insane within me, I've been driven to present yet again those pieces of my life that I prefer to keep hidden.
In the hope that perhaps one day, out of sheer bad luck, someone will stumble onto this monologue and hear it. Perhaps.
Does a dreamer have a place in the rat race? I once wrote to myself, in the bygone days when one did it the old fashioned way with pen and paper, that I would prove that they do. That WE do.
Now I wonder. I did prove something; what it is, I cannot fathom anymore than I can whether I still qualify as a dreamer; what is the qualification? The criteria? What does a dreamer do?
Or perhaps the very nebulous nature of the word itself constitutes the definition. A dreamer is just that; she does not purport to DO anything, she does not brag about having earned medals or recognition. She simply wishes to be able to spin webs and wonder if they could indeed, someday, be.
Sometimes I wonder if everyone feels the crushing loss when a dream comes true. Dreams are always pretty; does anyone count their cost? Does the girl dreaming of being a femme fatale with a hundred broken hearts behind her consider that her heart would break in the process too?
Does a child dreaming of that important job with the ostentatious title realise the cost; the hours of simple pleasures that need to be edged out?
In all this, where do I stand? What can I say about myself today? Some of my dreams came true, and I stand here today, scared to dream lest they turn to reality.
Much as I thought that living my life vicariously, or rather, letting people do so through me (??) would go against all that was insane within me, I've been driven to present yet again those pieces of my life that I prefer to keep hidden.
In the hope that perhaps one day, out of sheer bad luck, someone will stumble onto this monologue and hear it. Perhaps.
Does a dreamer have a place in the rat race? I once wrote to myself, in the bygone days when one did it the old fashioned way with pen and paper, that I would prove that they do. That WE do.
Now I wonder. I did prove something; what it is, I cannot fathom anymore than I can whether I still qualify as a dreamer; what is the qualification? The criteria? What does a dreamer do?
Or perhaps the very nebulous nature of the word itself constitutes the definition. A dreamer is just that; she does not purport to DO anything, she does not brag about having earned medals or recognition. She simply wishes to be able to spin webs and wonder if they could indeed, someday, be.
Sometimes I wonder if everyone feels the crushing loss when a dream comes true. Dreams are always pretty; does anyone count their cost? Does the girl dreaming of being a femme fatale with a hundred broken hearts behind her consider that her heart would break in the process too?
Does a child dreaming of that important job with the ostentatious title realise the cost; the hours of simple pleasures that need to be edged out?
In all this, where do I stand? What can I say about myself today? Some of my dreams came true, and I stand here today, scared to dream lest they turn to reality.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
"The Time Has Come...", The Walrus Said...
There's something about year-ends.
It's cliched and old and positively archaic, yet there is something about the dying out of yet another period. Perhaps it brings out the heathen in all of us. Craven and fearful of what time might bring, superstitious of the future, no matter what the present holds.
It makes one introspect and delve into dark recesses, climb out and keenly observe from the outside, the image one presents.
Peering into corners and dusty bylanes both in the exterior and the interior and cogitate and ask oneself most waveringly "How do i look?".
"What is it that I present to the world? Am I good enough? Will I be fired?"
And worst of all, that eternal question. "Does Mommy/ Daddy/ The paddy farmer down the lane love me?"
We look within and without for those secret anomalies we possess. Those shameful, huddled bends in our lives which fall below the perfection we wish for, nay demand from ourselves.
Work Harder. Be Better. Compete. Win. Be Loved. Be Worthy.
We set the standards, and believe them to be set by forces external to ourselves, in turn becoming a source of hurt and disillusionment. How could anyone possibly find us worthy when we fail the tests set out for us? How could we possibly be "good" when we judge ourselves below par; sub-standard?
We run and we hide from these fears, thrust them away in the murky waters of memory. And like a river in monsoon, they come flooding back when its time for the annual life review. Each year the burden becomes heavier, the sediment increases each time the giant question marks are shuffled away.
Perhaps this was the reason New Year Resolutions were created. To give the cobwebs of the mind an airing; to allow us to spring clean and throw out those matters of the buggy kind, which would otherwise fester and cause much unhappiness.
I know what I will try this year. Maybe try to remove as much of that guilt as possible. Maybe try to see myself as a person; a good and worthy person. One who is loved and genuinely liked. Maybe even one who spreads happiness and good cheer.
Perhaps the world would be a better place for having done so, what?
Monday, December 20, 2004
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)