Can there be a perfect post?

I don’t remember when I wrote my last post. I got my lappie two weeks back. And since having Windows Live Writer, I always fuss about the formatting and the not the writing itself.

Well it’s not completely true. I fuss just too much on content too. There are a dozen drafts living in my dashboard since eternity. And many have died the cruel and sudden death of a whimsical delete button. After writing two paragraphs I start afresh thinking of a new idea. Even as I write this post, many things pull me away from it. I’m on and off the computer more than the net words I’ve written right now.

So I’ll explain how it all happens. Firstly, I notice I’ve not written my blog for quite some time now. I open it and just drool over  (for approximately 5 minutes) how nice looking the whole interface is and thank wordpress for it. Then I wonder if there exists any soul in the world who sees this beautiful webpage. Bang comes the dashboard and the stats in front of me. If I get a spike in recent views from 2 to jaw-dropping 3, I get excited enough to finally put FB aside and click the ‘new post’.

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Published in: on 17 Nov '10 at 12 am  Comments (1)  

How I was Mainstreamed

When I was small, I was not exactly outgoing. Social interactions were always my weak point. Over at any guest’s place, however I wanted to eat that biscuit in the plate and however aunties persuaded me to do so, I never picked one up. I did all my stuff with few questions and hardly any objection (but I am not saying I was not lazy!). I enjoyed my time by watching all the drama called life, but never participated in it. Nothing ruffled my hair, so I was content.

On the other hand, my sister used to be the centre of attraction. She was comfortable with crowds, I preferred to run away to solitude. She used to push me to participate in school events. I still remember, I was a recurring figure whenever poem recitation competitions used to take place. And I was a total disaster. Only once did I completed my poem. Otherwise, I used to stare at the crowd (which stared back rudely at me), fidgeting and straining hard to remember the next line. But failure after failure, year after year, I went back to stage. It was only much later I realised that I am not made for these things.

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Published in: on 29 Sep '10 at 5 pm  Leave a Comment