The Funk Continues

There’s always something happening. There’s always something to write about.

I could write about Diwali tonight, the weirdry with J, the worsening work dilemma – but sometimes nothing feels worth the while. Everything seems uninteresting and too banal to bother with. Of course it’s the very opposite that’s true – when things get intense I don’t want to think about them. I just want them to go away. And the covers call…

I think I was born with a melancholy gene.

Here’s something far removed from the intensity of life, making it possible to handle:

Like everything else, there are some things about blogging that you cannot fathom till you try your hand at it.

A friend would often write in his blog, ‘I do not write to be read’. And I, a non-blogger then, would say to him that of course he wants to be read – that’s why he chooses a public forum and not a diary locked away in his drawer.

I understand now, that sentence so clearly. I do not write to be read – I do not write with an audience in mind, I am not trying to be funny, amusing, entertaining, philosophical or even interesting. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to be read, that I’m not hoping to meet people who can relate to and connect with me in some small way.

I wish I could unscrew my head and put it on the shelf.

Something tells me I may not be blogging for a while.