I desperately need someone, something or some event to make me happy and keep me happy till I do not itch to plunge head down into a pool of wallowing sorrow, and monkharapkora again. Making me laugh for an hour or so counts, but I want something bigger and better and longer than that. Oishee isn't here to make things better. And even when she does make a fleeting appearance, the 'fleetingness' takes the joy of seeing her away and the moment of genuine joy passes hurriedly. I never thought one person could make such a huge difference.

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

your shortcomings.

I suppose I've got to work on myself. Thank God, you are still there despite me being as I am.