In Which I Ponder While Being Evacuated

I cannot commit to the sort of commitment blogging requires. I am either too lazy, or busy, or busy yet lazy; and most often, too spazed out to be blogging. All those wonderful blog entries I type out in my head, even as I'm spazed out, may just remain that. Irredeemable blog entries. Aaaaa!
IPL, Technorama was talking about a japanese device that allows operation of computers through mere thought; something linked with neurotic messages in the brain being detected and translated.
I need something like that. That would totally work for me.
I think that's where I lose most of thoughts. On the way from the mind to the fingers, some of my thoughts are dulled, dispersed, and lost. They can be recaptured, of course, all it needs is some thinking. But, wouldn't it be nice to see your thoughts typed out on the blog in real time?

Of course, I'm sure there is something that allows for real time thought translation; but is it available to you and me?
Sigh. And they say it's a technologically advanced world.

Escape.

Smoke Buddy showed me a photograph with her standing smiling against the wind. Behind her stood the most beautiful field of sunflowers. She looked so happy.

I want to travel the world. Meet new people. Eat good food. Experience excitement. What am I doing in This World?

Escape. A beautiful concept. Hidden in an ugly word.

Why must escape be cowardly? Doesn't it take guts to escape, sometimes? I suppose it's cowardly, cus sooner or later, life catches up with you and then there is no escape. Sometimes I wish I could postpone my meeting with life.

My Adventures with Pyllay - 1

I have, of late, had the misfortune of unconsciously - and in fact, unwillingly - cultivating the great Mr. Pyllay, resident lecherous crotch-scratching Gollum here in This World. His regard for me saw this unfortuntate rise since he has come to know of Palakaddan roots. After a long monologue on the Bharatapuzha and the effect of some waterfall on fat people, he has now placed me with his favourite mallu few.
Such irony. Last trimester, I tried it all. I even borrowed Real Mal's very mal salwar to wear to his viva, donned a pottu, with my damp hair in the mal kulichupinnal. And he slept through it. Now, I want him to ignore me. But, oh no. Now, he refers to me as The Great Madam. Seriously, what kind of goddamned salutation is that? And wants me to make some ranDOM presentation on this most absolutely ranDOM section in definitely the ranDOMest Companies Act, 1956. AND, I am still do the goddamned projects.

Life is being really difficult with me. And what do I do? Get baked, and be difficult back to it. So, now I don't know if This World is fucking with me, or I am fucking with This World.