a list (a favourite tactic when writer's-blocked)

• I am angry with blogger. Yes, you, you blue and orange, lying, befuddled dashboard you. I finally decided to delete my other blog, the one where I siphon off unworthy thoughts (much like a pensieve (J K Rowling (tm)), but only for certain types of thoughts). After much deliberation I hit the 'delete blog' button, and it disappeared forever from my dashboard. I had a (n over-dramatised, obviously) goose bumpy moment - those forlorn lovelorn ditties could interfere with my normal logical brain function no more. I was free of the memories of hopeless sentimentality, manifested in colourful spurts of imagination, enshrined in an icky icky blog. deep breath. Ha. Nether-landu was the first to discover that blogger had some crossed wires. The newly killed blog had somehow shifted to it's old url, from which I had moved it some 4 months ago, with all posts (some of the worst ones, I tell you!) until the day of the move, intact. What's more, as it's not on my (new, superbly efficient, google) dashboard anymore, I can't access it to delete posts, change address, break, mangle, anything.
• *22 March Edit: Thanks are in order to the people at 55's and then some, who have kindly invited me to share in the fun. The fifty five word fictions are bubbling slowly - i'll pop one soon, fellow authors.
• The extent of my emotional involvement with blogging, the internet and my computer in general is frightening. I’m supposed to be spending quality time with my family. instead my constant companions are TV remote controls (3 per TV. we have 2 TV’s. hence plural), snacks (Guilt), well ok dogs too. BUT, the People I’m actually interacting with are continents away, via google talk. It's as if I’m not really in the room, not with the dad who is so keen to involve me in his new venture, not hearing the mom who wants to please me in little ways every hour, not responding to the friends who're keen to get me going in the little big deals of a small town existence (Oye! paaaarty on saturday!). It's as if my living alone shell has travelled with me to a place and time where I am not alone.
• It could also be that truly talking to people, not typing at them, will force disclosures and admissions I am not ready to make.
• I read a book - The Kite Runner. It's the best non-humorous book I've read in a long time. Normally I need my dramas to have good dose of irreverence, cynicism, ribaldry or even slapstick in them. But this was purely senti and I loved it. 'For you a thousand times'.... I feel like I’ve felt that way about someone way too often. Which means that probably I’ve never felt it really. The book was about almost a whole lifetime and the few events which shaped it. The narrator was lucky to recognise the events for what they were. I was reminded of events in my family’s history which seemed huge when they happened, but are nearly forgotten now. Did they then inscribe the paths we would all take afterwards? Will I figure it out on my deathbed, or will writing my first novel give me the requisite clarity? It’s a damning line of thought.
• I’ve been reading more blogs than before. We really have some great stuff out there, most of whom are too cool to need me to link them. The blogosphere strangely keeps me more Indian than any amount of dandiya nights and Monday pujas at the local temple.
• There’s also my mum’s kosha mangsho of course…