I missed #UgBlogDay, was about to miss #29DaysOfLove. And at this rate might miss the #Writivism2016 Short Story Prize. Why? Because I’ve been entangled in crazy work targets and nursing a broken heart. Over the last five days I’ve been more at my desk than anywhere else; oh, apart from my cold thoughts and the Server room. That brisk cold place that’s a cut off between the Antarctica and a morgue.
I couldn’t write, anything, not even an ode to my soul. I’d reach home too tired to eat, too famished to compose my musings. I consumed an energy drink for the first time, a fizzy drink which tasted like camel menopause urine.
I slept for a total sum of 12 hours out of the 40 hours I could have and normally sleep. So I missed the dreams, the dreams that last forever. Those that echo a Quentin Tarantino movie on drugs. The dreams that don’t also know when to end.
Must have talked of a heart break somewhere. More like a ‘heart hurt’. In love like in war there will always be victims of circumstances. It sucks, really sucks when it’s not worth it.
- Why do good people always get bad partners, the worst partners?
- Why do we always want to bend the good people to accommodate the bad ones without considering that the good ones might break?
- Why do we always want to believe the people that talk ill of people we hitherto knew as good? Why do we even listen to them?
- How can some people be expected to always be the ones to care more; look out for lost friends, text first, be there always while not getting even a soupcon of the sort?
I know of a good heart who’s being taken through the dry barren valley of hurt, and whenever I think about it, I brood. Why?
So I was sad, sad and fatigued isn’t the best cocktail. You don’t feel the same, it’s not the normal you. You just want to be fine, but you can’t. You feel worthless, empty and confused. So you can’t do the things you always do, you can’t even write.
The #29DaysOfLove Challenge, can I do it? I don’t even know what it is in it’s entirety, yet. But damn yeah I can, I can do it. So many memories to share, good and bad. Much as it’s to first ask for consent for some, and make it fictitious for the others, it would be fun and quite deep.
The letters, I know some people in my life who would be thrilled about the idea, about the letters , mostly if they were to be printed out and sent by Post Office mail.
Reminds me of High School Letters, if only I could scan the original scented floral ‘writing pad’ letters. I still got a couple of them. The scent has soon faded but the message remains. If only I could share the chits that were our Whatsapp kind of communication growing up. If only horses were wishes…
The Messages now seem so childish but genuine, and the dedications oh the dedications, so funny. On to this Challenge.