I'm talking in cryptic code again but for a good reason, because a lot of grief stems from problems which are too raw to air publicly without hurting the people that I know of.
Writing is cathartic for me.
Someone once said that your writing should never turn into an extension of yourself, and I have a sneaking suspicion I have already broken that rule many times over. Whether I admit it or not, it has evolved into a sanctuary that I run to, like now.
I do not want to go the way of the self-pity because it would only worry me more making me feel very weak and more unwitting to even make a note about that here.
I would usually hesitate to put up such a self-indulgent writing but I think I'll cut myself some slack today. If at all at one point of time I am given any authority in life to wish for something I want I would ask for a world without any counseling/advisory/mental rehabilitation centers.
On Web terms I wish I could permanently disable that functionality for the app users.
I don't need castigation, or criticism, most certainly I don't need pity. Just my own space and time to collect my thoughts and get back on my feet.
These therapeutic, invigorating pieces of words that I splatter on my parchments gives an effusive feel of fulfillment of having broken a decipherable code.
And so I am rescued at the lowest ebb of the whole week. I received a call just as I thought I am all set to crown a spectacularly mundane weekend in the pallid blandness of my gibberish.
I could hear, very clearly only these lines over and over again, which were gonging loudly like the huge bell of a community prayer hall!
It was nice. Absolutely unbelievable and a pleasant experience.
Begging your pardon, I have a penchant for understatements.
Thanks for making my day, I spat out when I hung up!