Incoherent

Are there days when you feel a lot like a little too much. Days when things feel more painful or happy or frustrating than they actually are. Or maybe these are the days when you are not able to brush your feelings away under some numb activity like scrolling or Netflixing.

You close your eyes for some respite and suddenly see yourself sitting on a bench with someone you knew seven years ago but don't want to know or remember anymore. Memories are persistent and stubborn though. They stay. The bad ones sometimes longer than the good ones. Or maybe I am just self-pitying and cribbing here. Maybe, all memories are equally persistent. 

It is difficult to write coherently on such days. Your mind is full of so many thoughts. One can say that why not write all of them. But it is still difficult, you know because while you are writing about one thing, the other thoughts start hitting the walls of your brain. Wanting to come out. I am not sure if they want to come out or if you want to get rid of them. Does that happen? 

Adults are a sugarcoated, superficial, glittery bundle of shit. On most days I don't like them. However, I am an adult now and maybe I am becoming exactly what I despised. 

I like observing my sixteen-year-old brother though. His energy is infectious. While I am typing all this grimness frantically on my laptop. He just entered the room with a lot of ice in his hands. He was playing with it. Sometimes, I feel bad about not being responsive enough when he is in a playful mood. He looks happy. Was I also like him when I was a 15-year-old? 

I am not sure if it's a good thing but in my head, I was never young. Maybe it's because of the good old stereotype where you say 'girls mature faster than boys'. No, they don't and even if they do, it's not nice. My most prominent memory of my younger self is writing diaries. I used to write poetry and other random things. I had several diaries. I remember once on Rakshabandhan my brother gifted me a lock-diary. I was very happy. But I could never use it. It was too pink and small. That's not my problem though. It was just not comfortable to write in it. The pages were fancy but loose. They would come out easily. I guess the priority of the makers was to make that diary look pretty. They never focussed on making it useful. Sounds familiar? Might sound familiar if you are born a female in a patriarchal world. 

I read a quote today. 

If you want to talk about anything, you have to talk about everything first.

It's relatable at this moment. I don't know what I am writing about. But it also feels like if I want to share just one thing with you, I will have to share a lot of things, which I would love to do, but some other day. It's been a heavy day. I can list the reasons but I prefer not to archive them. It's better to not archive. I am not a fan of archiving anyway.

I don't think about the readers of this blog much because I know there must not be many. But today I am thinking about them. I am thinking about you, in case you are here, reading this. It's weird. Sometimes I like it because this blog is a way to put things out there. In the universe, I suppose. But today I am getting creeped out. What if someone I am not fond of is reading these random details of my day. 

There are days when I romanticise the existence of this blog. I watched Julie and Julia and was elated to see what Julia did with her blog in a year. It was also on Blogspot by the way. But then there are days when I am just bleh (cynical) about everything in life and the world, including this blog. 

I think it must have been one of these days when I destroyed all my personal diaries. In my defence, I was just trying to save them from the eyes of the world.