Alone in a crowd. Only books sustain me.
Anyway, people have been complaining about my morbidity. Rightly so too! God! Had my writings been someone else's and not mine, I'd have definitely winced at the high morbidity quotient. Then again, I might not have. Most people find Plath morbid and I adore her. Positively worship her. However that isn't a case that furthers my argument. Morbidity minus genius is painful. Poor you few, rare, hapless readers!
Networking sites disgust me! Or is it really because I interact little with the hyperactive networkers and am generally ignored, rarely gathering comments or appreciations? The 'in-crowd' repels me, probably because I don't belong there. Gossipmongers irritate me and drive me into a shell. And I have serious issues against back-biting, spinelessnes, backstabbing and smoke.
Presumably I'm not having the best time of my life because inspite of being short-sighted as I am and happy to be happy (though this post wouls suggest to the contrary), I can see my faults too. And trust me life isn't easy when you can see your faults and become painfully aware of
I suppose I've got to work on myself. Thank God, you are still there despite me being as I am.