A case of blogger’s block

In the past few months not only have I not been able to write anything of interest, I haven’t had any interesting thoughts either. Yeah, scary stuff. No, it isn’t a case of being stuck or being bored contrarily there have been too many changes. A new job, a new home, new locality, new restaurants, new gym, the works; so it is not a case of the stale routine. And so, it must be what I frequently experience at work. A block. A big, big block. The writer's block. [ooh la la the word writer has a such a nice feel to it, doesn't it? that explains the peanutish moolah in advertising]

Back to the block, yeah I did attempt to write on a few occasions though, wow see the word attempt, c’mon an attempt to blog? How sad is that? So, after rounds of navel gazing, I decided to wait, wait until the words came flowing, such a robust flow, that no deadline, no lazy mind can stop.

Well, that was not to be. So I wrote. See the post below, says something doesn’t it, it was so forced? This time round, I am going to wait a little longer, yeah there’s a risk involved, that I never start again. That the ominous block refuses to go. Tough times. Sigh.

And on that note, I leave you with a question… just how seriously should a blogger take her blog?

When the tough refuses to get going…

There are times, when no matter how hard you try, how much ever, things just don’t change. For better. And then there are things you could do about it, sulk or to not sulk. Yeah of course you would keep trying to change things [I wouldn’t venture there in this blog, cause that will be little self-helpish, and I don’t want that.] Cut to the chase, times have been such that more often than not, I seek things that comfort me, things that tell me life isn’t a monster that there’s so much more to my day than the sore thing(s), which I will refrain from discussing here.

I talk to a friend, not the one who has 37 solutions to my problem, no not her. I speak to the one who cracks me up, oblivious to my troubles. This works.

Food. Of course. Trans fats be damned.

Newer goals [sounds dangerously self-help]. Goals not remotely connected with the pain point.

Television. 5 hours of it. It’s mind numbing, which in the given circumstances, is a good thing.

Books yes. Again like that friend, nothing too deep. Jeffrey Archer heals like no one else. So does Theroux, as he takes you through rainy afternoons in London and romantic evenings in Honolulu.

And yeah, there's nothing that a lot of chocolate can't fix.

Care but not that much.

And never have more important words been spoken. I wish I had heard it sooner. Sooner



on an aside: But, because I care about this blog, and because I like to write, I am going to blog again. Soon enough. As soon as I get my chutzpah back.

“I hope I have it easy, for the first time in my life.”

- An American Idol hopeful.

She did not have it easy. She did not make it to the top 24 of American Idol. After all the hard work, struggle, hope, she is out. And now her entire struggle will cease to matter. Of course she is a very gifted young singer, she has all the time in the world, and this is only the beginning, and how there are so many opportunities and all that soothing signoffs that people tell you. But the thing is, those opportunities will bring another round struggle, pain and hope. It isn’t going to be easy.

Why do some of us have to work so hard? And some just have it so easy? Yeah I am all for hard work and dedication and all that, but just sometimes, I wish I could have it easy like so many others. I envy them. There’s was this girl in my class, she had all the fun that school goers hope to have, and she very effortlessly got the marks that I did, while depriving myself of the fun. And there have been many such instances, at work, at gym and I am going to skip those because they bring back unpleasant memories. Yep, enough has been said about life not being fair, life being random, etcetera. But, don’t you just wish, you had it easy? I do. I am sure there’s a pattern that we are missing. I am going to figure that out, and hopefully before I am spent.

As Calvin put it, “Why should I have to work for everything? It’s like saying I don’t deserve it!”

There are two kinds of people in this world…

[that's me fighting it out]

I am ashamed at being this corny, honest, I never thought I would use this damn ‘two kinds of people’ thing ever, but here I had to, as you see. I have always judged people who say - there are two kinds of people in this world, those who likewhite bread and those who don’t; those who use the straw and those who don’t; those who love to run and those who don’t, and its variants. But here, I had to. That said, yeah there are two kinds of people in this world – those who can freelance and those who can not.

By ‘those who can’ I mean those who can handle the whole process graciously and emerge unscathed. And by handling the whole process I mean procuring work, meeting deadlines, negotiating deadlines, talking money and collecting money.

I, however, as one might have rightly guessed by now, come under the ‘don’t’ group. I suck at it. And I gave had two ugly experiences so far, pretty ugly ones actually; and I have realized that my living-on-a-hilltop-sipping-on-chai-latte-writing-three-days-a-week-and-earning-a-neat-money dream is certainly not happening and I have also learnt to respect my day job, my only job.

[and that's my man fighting it out for me]

And since I am meek and coward and can’t do much about those two ugly experiences, I will say a silent prayer – May both the aforementioned parties, rot in hell. Amen.

Bliss often comes in the form of a pdf

Not in the smiles of my neighbors’ kids

Not in the pretty hibiscus in that woman’s braid

Not in the smell of freshly ground coffee beans

Not in a beautiful, misty morning

Not in the days with no deadlines to chase

Not in the days that allow the pursuit of frivolous hobbies

Not in the orange of the dusk or the dawn

Not in the first rains of the monsoons

Not in lavender or patchouli

Bliss often comes in the form of a pdf, or a word doc for that matter.

Fuel asks: Can a 10,000 sq ft swanky gym get you in a 24W Levi’s?

I go to Gold’s Gym, perhaps the closest I would ever get to the A-listers. Not that I want to get any closer, just mentioning. Gold’s Gym is unlike any gym I have ever been to, well that’s not too may, but quite a few you know. It’s the first gym, where I don’t queue up for the treadmill; where machines don’t make my hands greasy; where I find more than two nine pound dumbbells, where I don’t cringe at the thought of using the mat; where every single air conditioner works and so does every cardio machine; where there are 4 awesome instructors, all of them awesome; where I look forward to those post workout showers; where the locker room looks exactly like how random sweet teenage movies on HBO told us would, where every corner is squeaky clean and often pretty; this is the gym, which I have been most regular to.

And this is also the gym, where people [both men and women] come to feel good and just that; where lonely married women come to seek single men; where lonelier married men come to run away from the domestic hum-drum; where the rich and the beautiful come to be reassured they are rich and beautiful; where pleasantly plump young girls come to shed the flab and regain their sense of worth; where the not so pleasantly plump ladies sweat hard [or so they think] to reclaim their husbands or whatever that was once theirs.

Gold’s Gym is a sanctuary of sorts, a kind of escape that tells you there’s hope. Maybe a lesser gym can get you the body that you seek, but not the place that you would want to run away to, each day. A place that tells you, you are okay.