The dew of little things

This lovely post raised, once again, the idea of simple pleasures- "For in the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed." So here's a list of seven, culled for not costing a thing, not requiring too much by way of material goods (well, shoes are helpful :)), and being available anywhere, geographically.

1. Real conversations. I have proof that there is magic in friendship, magic that sprinkles fairy dust through bad days and keeps you protected from hurt. Real conversations are part of that charm.

2. Opening my eyes to life around- Birds, trees, dandelions, a potted plant in a dingy lab- A glimpse of a perfect sky is enough to lift my spirits.

3. Running. I don't go too fast or far, but it's still one of my favorite things ways to get happy.

4. Falling sick. Really :). Listening to 'real adults' gives me the impression that as we get older, taking time for the body to heal becomes a luxury. When children hurt themselves, they avoid the hurting limb, limp around, tell parents. 'Real adults' tell their limbs to stop bothering them, pop a painkiller (The equivalent of telling your body, "Shut up! I don't care what you have to say!") and get on with all-important things to do. Most mothers I know don't have the time to stay sick. Me, I'm miserable with it, but glad to be able to take the time, laze around in a robe and fuzzy socks.

5. Getting better :) - Yes, I know that's the equivalent of saying I like banging my head on the wall 'cos it feels so good when I stop. But seriously, after being sick, it feels so good to get through a day without the fatigue! Why take wellness for granted when good health can be so enjoyable?

6. Babies and small animals. Obvious, but cuteness never fails to satisfy :)

7. Fantasies. They don't cost a thing, can be conjured up anywhere, and the idea of a red-green house-sized dragon named Fitzgerald walking down Main Street demanding cookies never hurt anyone, did it?

The light shines through..

There's this rather famous blog I stop by occasionally. Written by someone my own age, living a life as different from mine as possible, I think. Even in the same city, we would be in different worlds. Her blog is light-hearted entertainment, a quick gurgle of delight, a slight glug of despair.. and she moves on. It's fun, but not something I'd think twice about- or even once, really. In the same room, we might not have much to say to each other. I might dismiss her as the chick, she might dismiss me as the nerd. Her latest post, however, skews perspective.

It takes courage to walk out of a bad marriage, to stand up to abuse and heal yourself, body and mind and soul. It takes especial courage if you come from a society that is sometimes too quick to voice its opinion, and not quick enough to send out a helping hand. And it takes courage to stand up and say you were being trite and never thought about things, acknowledge the person who pointed it out, and give her a space to lean forward into and speak her voice. Is one greater than the other? Quite possibly. For me, I am grateful for the reminder to judge more slowly, the sign that chicks can have hearts and good sense, and be willing to share them.

In older words...

Was it like this the last time we looked?
Were the colors so clear, laughter as sweet
And simple things- hot chai, the smell of marigolds
life in black and white
So precious in childhood?

Sweet innocence and calm it was, I know
But washed by tears
Starved by images of broken homes and broken people,
Isn't the heart a little deeper,
And beauty more sweet?

Irresistible!

In lieu of New Year's resolutions, this has been beckoning since January. Like all good intentions, it's been easily cast aside- with a really valid excuse, of course. In April, I peeked at the theme for May and said a little "Yay! I can do that for a month, easily!" May flowers, gestures from friends, baking adventures, random good things.. there's more than enough sweetness to write about for a month, certainly.

And May hit harder than I thought, with papers to write (and nasty deception! More as the mystery unravels! But not this month ;)), hospitals, conferences, illnesses, an un expected trip home... So, I figured I'd wait. Let those posts pile up and weave them into the theme for another month, maybe. But like deadlines and illness and everything bad, the good things refuse to wait either (Thank goodness!:)). And so it begins, my attempt that's doomed to failure- When I'm supposed to be working furiously to finish up this paper, I'm writing instead- a rather silly blog post, about Nutella. The sweet satisfaction of finding the last clean spoon in the tray (If there's Nutella at home, this is quite a challenge), and grabbing the perfect fix of 2 a.m chocolate and hazelnut with my coffee. Irresistible, inevitable, like the sweetness of May and all the good things in life.. What could be better? :)
(Yes, I know the correct answer to that last question would be- a LOT.Nonetheless, the rhetoric stands :)).

Recycled euphoria

When it's raining out, and the world is a little gloomier than it should be, the past can be a nice place to hang out, and so, this post is just a list of random things I put together a while back, as I crossed that dreaded quarter-life mark, and it wasn't as terrible as I thought it would be.. Things that almost make being an adult worth it! :)

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1. Money- however little/ much it is, or how generous my parents were and are, nothing beats earning my own!

2. Understanding my own needs- The clarity that comes from having tasted several flavors (icecream/ people/ emotions/ professions), and knowing which one I prefer.

3. Dark chocolate- Find me the child that favors dark chocolate over milk chocolate and caramel, and I will show you a person with truly evolved taste.

4. Walking away from unpleasantness, no longer forced to be a victim of someone else's bad behavior.

5. The self-righteousness that comes from having behaved well when the other person behaved badly ;)- (No childish heel-kicking tantrum comes close!

6. Late night drives with the windows down and the moon-roof open. And my choice of music, because I'm the only one in the car.

7. Self-discovery- The depths of teenage angst are fantastic, but they don't come close to the thrill of discovering something new about myself, however tiny the realization.

8. No fixed bedtimes !! I can blog when I like and sleep when I choose.

9. COFFEE- Why, why are small children denied this wonderful pleasure?

10. Cellphones.

11. Any phone, just for me!

12. Roadtripping with friends, and my favorite allies ;)

13. No-one stopping me from eating all the ice-cream, straight out of the carton.

14. Having an icecream container to myself, rum-raisin flavored !

15. The look on my dad's face when I drive my own car:)

16. Knowing there can be two rights and no wrong- Knowing that I know this slaps growing-up in my face harder than most other things, yet its a good feeling.

17. Making sense of books I first read when I was too young to understand them.

18. Laughing at silly 22-year old kids, with others as wise and mature as myself :)

19. Not ALWAYS fighting with my brother. Most of the time is not the same as always,
no matter what it looks like to my parents.

20. OLD friends. The kind who understand both where I'm coming from and where I'm headed to- and won't hesitate to tell me if its a blind alley I will bash my non-existent brains into.


21. Realising that age really is just a number. Most days I'm too busy to even remember which side of 25 I'm on!

22. Ranting, as opposed to throwing a tantrum. Knowing when to rant, when to stand and fight, and when to just ignore idiocy. (Atleast some of the time!).

23. Work- Enjoying what I do, and having the freedom to procrastinate when I like!

24. The option of utter and complete laziness- To lie on the couch with a book all day, munching junk food and tuning out every other demand on my time.

25. No homework!

26. Enjoying being a geek- at long last I have a cooler life than the gossipy popular girls who now crib about tending babies!

27. Taking off from work to blog- Not something I'd have managed in school ;)

Flying/ falling

The only difference between flying and falling is learning not to hit the ground. Sometimes, though, the wind that carries you to soaring can hurt more than turning into a wet squishy mass on the ground. For who's to say where the wind will take you, and how do you know that it isn't carrying you towards a giant brick wall in the sky, only to make a bigger, uglier SPLAT!- Higher up, for more people to see and point at, and no earth to sink into.

Do you always trust the wind that carries you? What do you do, when you are so carried away by your ideas/beliefs, that you no longer see the ground you once stood firm on, or the destination you thought you were heading towards? What holds you up, when you no longer trust the wind?

Advising the present

There's a popular question that goes, "If you could give your teenage self one piece of advice,based on what you have learned since then, what would it be?"
Too much of my time of late has been spent in impatience, anger at the slowness of medical reports, the inefficiency of research, and so much else. When this typically gets expressed in a rant to Mom, I'm reminded to be patient, not push people too much, and so on. I never quite got why- WHY couldn't people just get the damn job done ??
A friend shared this song today, and I couldn't have asked for a better explanation, I think.. And thus, a piece of advice to the present me -

Dheere jalna, dheere jalna
Zindagi ki lau pe jalna
Kaanch ka sapna gal hi na jaye
Soch samajh ke aanch rakhna
Dheere jalna..

(Gulzar, from Paheli)

Writing conundrums and cooler stuff

I've been meaning not to write, these last several days. One of my closest-held writing notions is to only write what I feel, what I hold dear- If I don't mean it, it will not sound right. So I've written, a lot really- but why would I want to bore you with the rants and the moping and the whining that ensued? There has been a little too much of it on this blog lately, and I'm sick of it. So here, instead of all that, is a random list of things that have made me happy in these times of much ranting and not enough laughter.

1. Supercool moms- My own, a blog I visit, and a sweet little sight I saw yesterday afternoon. A mom on a bicycle, with one of those little toddler cars trailing behind. Matching helmets, and parent and child enjoying their afternoon sunshine. The beginning of spring, and a firm reminder that the whiny, sad little creatures who hide behind children as an excuse for not having a life of their own are not the only kind of mom there is. My mom- requires a long, separate post all of her own, which she'll get, someday soon :)

2. Pineapple cake ! Here's a GREAT recipe, please try it out, everyone! :)

* 1 1/2 cups oil
* 2 cups sugar
* 4 eggs
* 2 1/4 cups cake flour
* 1 teaspoon baking soda
* 1 teaspoon baking powder
* 1 cup nuts
* 1 teaspoon cinnamon
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 1 teaspoon vanilla/ orange extract
* 1 cup carrots
* 2 cups crushed pineapple
Bake at 350 F for about 45 mins. (Be warned, this is huge, so either halve the quantities or prepare to share )

3. Early morning walks- Right after I am woken up with coffee in bed, a fantastic-weather-tulips-poking-out-of-soil walk with the husband. When the rest of the day goes downhill, its nice to think that some things stay perfect- No failed experiments or deadlines or health issues can change the coming of spring, and the fact of coffee!

4. Funny blogs- Perfect afternoon pick-me-ups, for those slow days at work. Try this one !

5. Perspective- Sometimes, all the screw-ups in the world are just plain funny. Just squint at them, or top them off with a purple hat with an ostrich plume and a few assorted fruits on it. Or a dinosaur.

Introduction to Poetry

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

-Billy Collins

Promises like shoes

“Next time I will …”


“From now on I will never …”




What makes me think I am wiser today than I will be tomorrow?

-From Notes to myself, by Hugh Prather

.. Two days ago I was going on about words that hold me up, and today I'm kicking myself for having forgotten them. Why should I hold myself to old promises of friendship, when the grown-up me knows better than the child who sealed the deal?

How do you move on, when you're still walking around in too-old, too-tight shoes from long ago? Do you drag your feet and walk in misery, or do you squinch up your toes for so long that you lose all feeling in them, and then the shoes feel fine? After a while you might even think you enjoy not having toes anymore, and think those who do are freaks to want to keep them.

Or are you strong enough to rip outgrown, worn shoes off your feet, and walk with the blisters for a while? Do you slip your injured feet right back into another pair, just to hide the ugly wounds, or do you let yourself heal before you slip into a pair you'd like to try?

Like no-one's watching

I'm not sure what to write here. Having spent the greater part of time not sharing words, I'm not sure what it involves to use them as a medium of communication.

Words are understanding, words are fun. Words wrap around and make sense when the world doesn't. They can mean so much or nothing at all. I can stare at a word, fall so deep into it that the alphabets lose meaning. Then re-surface and smile with renewed understanding. Try it with AREA. That was one of my favorites in Math class. Write it down, over and over, mouth the letters, exaggerated. Take it apart- why those four letters, why so many vowels? Where did this word 'area' come from? Imagine Egypt as you calculate the area of a pyramid. What did they call it? What would we call it if we were talking to them? AREA. Fall into it. If it doesn't work with this one, try your favorite word. Tell me what happens :)

Words have power, beyond reckoning. In any language, as long as it touches the heart. My current favorite is a line from Gulzar, "Gin gin taare maine ungli jalayi hai.." - I have burnt my fingers counting the stars. I don't understand what it means, but the words sink in and take hold, and they will let go when I have understood. None of it is my doing, it is their power, their magic. Fall back on words, and see which ones hold you up.

But to get to the point of this post- I'm still fumbling here, trying to communicate with words, through words. And I'm fumbling with a few awards- surprised and touched, that people I like read this blog and even enjoy it! This makes me aware that somewhere, someone might actually read what I write, and I think I have stage(blog?) fright now!:) So, uhm, thank you, you and you !

I think I'll pass this right back to both of you, Neeraja and Perception - for the fantastic writing, lovely ideas, and perfect capacity to always entertain :)
..To Nish, who got me into blogging, with hopes that the lady will write again,
soon ;) And Nidhi- it's such a pleasure to reconnect after the years, even though it's only online for now :)

(The image is shamelessly borrowed from Perception's blog, I didn't know how else to get it on here!)

Would it be against blogger protocol to turn this into a tag and demand a new post from everyone I passed it to? That way there's more to read ;)

The things we do for love!

In my experience, most people in relationships are confused, to a greater or lesser extent. We're brought up for 20 odd years with the idea that we must develop our personalities, be independent, free-thinking individuals, and then somehow we find ourselves in this mess of hormones and expectations of other people and obligations and everything else. If you work your way out, you end up crying over your break-up, single and miserable while everyone around is in happily-ever-after land.
The alternative, of course, is to be brave (or foolish) enough to fight your way through the mess, emerging on the other side with the tag of 'committed/ married'.

Working the kinks out of relationships, dealing with relatives and familial obligations, figuring out how this person you live with can manage to unfailingly forget at least one out of every four items on the grocery list (Feel free to substitute personal annoyance here- I'm sure each of us, man or woman, has our own)
- As if all this weren't crazy enough, we now step into the month of February, with grocery stores covered in pink and red balloons and everywhere you look you see hearts and doves and all the rest of it. When did picking up salad and potatoes begin to necessitate such festivity? I can understand card stores and gift shops, but the produce section?

This year promises to be especially amusing in India- with pink underwear and pink saris battling it out, and the grand proclamation that "India is the land of Lord Krishna and nobody should compete with him in terms of love and relationship."
(I'm already wondering how this man arrived on the planet, or is he claiming to be a direct descendant of the Lord?) To add to the confusion, there is the Pub bharo andolan- which leads to the rather interesting image of the streets of Bombay and Delhi teeming with women of all shapes and sizes, clad in pink saris, clutching images of Lord Krishna to prove that their love is unsurpassed by anyone. I'm waiting for all the pictures to be uploaded as promised here.

Considering that all of this is for a 'festival' that has nothing to do with Indian culture in the first place, I get the feeling poor St. Valentine is probably feeling a little left out right now.

Something like love

A simple time, in a complex country. Where words like love come not as strings attached to relationships, but in a soft unyielding weave of time, tradition, religion, and so much else. Where teenagers fumble with this cloth, and fret, wondering whether this is fabric to be worn with pride, or ripped apart to find that one constant thread that is love.

So lets go back to this simple time. A classroom, like most others in India. February is a pleasant time of the year, in most places. Far from home, twenty or so single boys and girls plan a Valentine's party for themselves. Who needs a boyfriend/ girlfriend, when all this friendly love abounds? A cell phone rings, and one person steps out to answer it.

On to a terrace, sun-warmed cement and brick under bare feet. The smell of dusty earth and neem trees. The conversation is quite typical- how was your day, did you talk to your advisor about that last set of experiments? Yes, and did you get your reports in on time? What plans for the evening? They talk, the boy and the girl, for a little while. Across the warp and weft that separate them, they find the threads that hold them together for the span of this conversation, a few minutes in a late winter evening.

He isn't sure whether to wish her. Will she take it to mean he assumes she's his girlfriend? Should he have sent flowers, or would she get angry if he did? Why hasn't he wished her? Does this mean that he assumes her answer is no? But she really isn't sure. If she wishes him, will he assume its a yes? If you say Happy Valentine's on the phone, isnt that like saying- go enjoy yourself even though you're half a world away from me? So they talk for a while, and hang up. Satisfied with the idea of romance, without the tangles of love.

.. While that's probably not a love story of any kind, it amuses and reassures me to think of it now- A time when love, or something like it, was just as simple as a phone call. No strings attached. And that we were once people like that, who could find and hold the one strand we liked out of that vast, intricate tapestry, even if it was just for a few minutes of a lifetime.

Keeping it simple

Big words are scary and hard to understand. When you explain the world, already big and scary enough, with big words, I get confused. So don't explain to me some wondrous thing you saw with magical technology, and then ask me to fit it into my comprehension.

The mind is a little thing, and can only stretch so far and wrap itself around so much. So tell me of the simple things, in words I can understand. Don't explain things I dont understand with terms I understand even less. Spare me the prokaryotic apoptosis communism sociobiology determinism in development cell fate dualism altruism.. Spare me all of that. The world is confusing enough without them.
Explain to me instead the simple things.

Don't speak of long-term potentiation and how it affects love in mice. Tell me why I can break my heart over someone I don't care about. Everything in the universe may be a fractal, but tell me how your equations explain why people smile over flowers.

Tell me why the right rhythm in my earphones is all that is needed for the perfect three-mile run. Tell me why some days I just need a hug.

Tell me how a virus killing some bacteria and not others can explain why we do things for the greater common good. At the end of the day, remember that science and philosophy share the same roots- A love of wisdom, a desire for knowledge. And if your science and philosophy cannot increase the wisdom or knowledge of the audience you hope to impress, how does it help?

Clueless!

I'm beginning to think the clueless undergrad doing research is an essential part of any grad student's learning process. Like the Sarah Palins of academia, they teach you to laugh at the things that should technically fill you with the most despair.
Most importantly, they are good reminders of exactly how stupid people can be, and why warnings like " May contain peanuts" are to be found on a pack of peanuts.

I've only encountered two specimens so far, and until now they have given me NO hope for the future of science. Or geography, for that matter. (All this enlightenment apart from completely messing up my work, of course.)

A few snippets -

"Sooo... Singapore... isnt that like a city in Thailand?" (This from a person whose greatest claim to fame is having seen the ACTUAL Mona Lisa. Don't ask her who the artist was.)

"The bottles of solutions in the autoclave? I put them in the drying oven... isn't that where you put things after sterilizing them?"
(Yes, exactly. I spent two hours making these solutions up and adjusting pH just so that you could dry them down to salt-encrusted films at the end of my ridiculously long Friday.)

Argh. I don't remember my generation ever being so collectively dumb, even in our teens. I'm as confused about these kids as they're clueless about common-sensical things- What happened to them?

Fly like paper, get high like planes

Like India, it is a heady mix of color and big dreams and the dusty, filthy heart-breaking things one must do to achieve them. A simple enough story, that could happen in any country- Of a young boy who wants to win a pot of money, and hopes that his love will watch him on live television and come back to him.

It could be any boy, in any country. But like India, the film is the color of dusty streets and dhobi ghat, of clothes of many colors that fly with the wind like street children playing cricket on a runway. He takes off from the slums, running from righteous fire and a dying mother, selling trinkets on trains and having the time of his life.

Every tourist spot has people trying to make a fast buck, and the boy is no different. But Jamal is Indian, and his story wraps an emperor from a few centuries ago into a luxury hotel with a swimming pool, ties it all up into an elaborate, child-like scam, and presents it to you with an endearing smile. You could smile and give him a hundred bucks for the act, or you could rage at the inefficiency of the system that forces street children to steal the tires of a car.

A rare perspective- the 'foreign' viewpoint is obvious in the juxtaposition that runs throughout the film- insecticide sprayed at the railway stations as a boy runs through the poisonous mist to find the girl he left behind, and the people too poor to afford a television who crowd on the pavement to watch one man win a million. India runs through the story, as much a character to reckon with as Javedbhai and Manan.

The film pulses with unrelenting power in a city that really never sleeps, in a country that can ride on the dreams of one man and put bullets into a dozen others on its journey to the top. Unapologetic for its inadequacies, unmindful of the heartbreak it takes to make a dream happen - Like India, the film goes deeper than I can put into words, and every frame made me ache for home even as it transported me there. And I'm still high from Slumdog Millionaire.

Lunch-time mystery

I am currently reading a book with no context. A strange thing- I picked it up in the basement of a friend's house, he himself was unaware of how it got there. A simple green leather-bound book, with a title in gold letters. I've never heard of the book or the author, no biographical flap, no picture on the cover. The pages are a little yellowed, and its a second-hand book, but whether it was written in the 1980s or the turning of the previous century, I would not be able to tell.

The insides are equally strange- A story that tells of two borders to a country, and a war, and an excessively beautiful woman and a wounded soldier. An anonymous country, and I can find no obvious parallels to any of the historical wars that the story might be an allegory for. It's just some country, with some war. Unfamiliar terms in an old french are the only thing that have given the story any placement in time, and even those are uncertain holds on history.

The lack of context, geographic and temporal, is both in the story itself and in the way it ended up in my hands.

I could probably google the author and the book, and have all the answers in a few minutes. When faced with unfamiliar facts, thats usually where I begin (and several people would agree that I'm good at fishing out the obscure ;) ). But somehow, this book feels a little different. I carry it with me to the lab and read it at lunchtime,and every time I pick it up it is a little contact with the unknown.

A reminder in the middle of research and writing and constant analysis and the finding out of things, that we all need breaks to venture into the unknown, and not all questions need firm answers.

Incoherence, elaborated

There are an awful lot of metaphors that liken life to water. To live happily one must flow contented, one must always move, etc. etc. Fluidity is critical. So what of the rocks along the way, the stones that shatter calm surfaces to create ripples? What do you do when life casts pebbles at you and seems to enjoy it?

From a mass of incoherent ripples, I attempt to find flow again. Some interruptions are mild, a few ripples and the surface reforms. Others are even simpler, and flat stones skim off the top effortlessly.
And some days are like God/life is a kid with nothing better to do, and stone after stone after stone is cast in, shattering stillness hard and creating a mess of silt and froth that gets in my eyes and ears and mouth, making me lose all perspective. Calm stemming from insight is impossible, and I spew grit out of my mouth, shake my head and clench my eyes shut, just trying to clear things out so I can flow again.

One part physiology, one part ego. A huge chunk of petty annoyances. People acting up, atmospheric pressure lows. A friend's illness that none of us can control. Cast them in one after the other, all together... and the ripples clash and surge and I am lost. Where do I find the strength to pull myself together again, to flow contented and find purpose?

For now I flounder, from ripple to drop to splash, I attack each problem with no strength. What I need is to go deep, to find my footing on bedrock. Instead of flailing to create more confusion, I must perhaps let myself sink. Through cool calmness, soft filtered sunlight and the weightlessness of water. Sink lower still, until my feet touch the ripples on the sand beneath, and feel them give way, re-forming around whatever touches them.

Immersion in stillness, emotional and metaphoric, is the only way to not let the splashing on the surface reach the core.

Butterflies in the brain

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain."

Words help, sometimes. Wise words by minds so great, sometimes they help with the understanding of the present. Of some questions. He tells me why there is pain, but I knew that already. I'm ready to understand- just not sure what the lesson I'm supposed to understand is. Isn't the master supposed to show up when the student is ready?

And now that I begin to write, the title of the chapter, atleast, is clear.

Living with uncertainty.
Drawing once more on better words - "And much of your pain is self-chosen"
"You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar."

So technically, the uncertainty should end when I've figured out how to deal with it.
When I can stop focusing so much of my energy on the problem, it will cease to exist. Just like vaporising a cloud. Or casting a Patronus charm.

* Random quotes and paraphrasing from multiple sources- I'm fairly sure anyone reading this will know what they are :)

Winter within

It's the holiday season, and everything is bright and cheery. Everywhere you look there are holiday lights and christmas spirit, and yesterday I was tempted to take pictures of all the neighbourhood houses that have been hit by christmas bombs, and put them up here. Today, however, is a different story. Today feels like a tree I saw this morning- just one bare scrawny thing with no leaves, but hung here and there with leftover christmas ornaments. In the dark, the lights twinkle and you cant see the bare bones of it. In morning light it's just sorry. Like a pathetic attempt to gloss over the bad bits, as if a few laughs could hide the fact that there is nothing beneath. The strange thing is that the tree itself would be quite lovely on its own- stark and bare against winter white. It is the cover-up that makes it sad.

Today, I am not even tempted to remind myself of favorite sayings, or inspire myself to be better. Sometimes, it must be okay to just be a caterpillar, curl up and sleep. Sometimes, when you spread your wings, you don't fly, you only open yourself to hurt. Sometimes, wounds are better left to air and dry, rather than fester under the fake brightness of a Mickey mouse bandage, or a smile.

So just for today, there is no cheer, no message of hope to myself. Only a reminder, that sometimes hurt is okay.

Argh

Snood and Tetris- totally addictive, the perfect grad student TP. You match up the pieces, and when you get the pattern right, it all falls apart. And for some reason that makes you a winner.And when you win all it means is that the pieces come at you faster, and you have to figure out the patterns quicker.

Talk about crappy metaphors for life. And I play these to get away from my so-called work. I don't even want to think about what that makes me.