my future; it loves the post coital ciggy!!!!!!!!

Ok. So now there's this person i stalk, and when i say stalk the people who assume they know me should not think rabid, crazy ex-boyfriend-clinger. There's this twenty-something journalist in New Delhi who blogs and blogs, and did i mention blogs? I chanced upon it at a blogroll and have been hooked. Her life sounds just the way i would have described the sixteen years of mine. Just the way i explain the things i think are important - she talks of pink not looking gay on some guys, how we sometimes lose out by having too many choices.
She's intelligent, losing at love, just the Ally McBeal sorta thing.
I just saw my future.
I just saw the events that shaped her persona, rounded her personality, and have made her who she is; and i see me treading down similar pathways. It doesn't scare me, per se. Just freaks the hell outta me.
'S far as outlook's concerned - I don't mind the fast and loose lifestyle one bit. It makes for good coffee-break gossip, slumber party jokes, and just for a satirical grin-and-sighing look back at your life. But i want my life not to turn out that way. The way she says "I sometimes regret the way love making has become random sex" No, no, noooooooooooooo.
I want my life to be perfect. Don't I care enough to make that happen? Can I really continue to be the butt of whose-life-sucks-more jokes forever?
She's practically addicted to nicotine. She's been the teeny bopper, party hopper person. And her blog, her life story mind you, makes for such interesting read when you have free internet and nothing else to do.
Maybe it'll be nice to chronicle it out later in an autobiography I'd write, years down the line, "the mistakes i made, and all that i pretended to learn from 'em"
But won't sensible action, restraint and aloofness make for better ego massages? Wouldn't I love looking back at that girl and saying, "I'm glad i turned out fine. Life's really not worth living if you can't do the right things".
Of course, if i had a substantial number of readers on my blog, this would've sparked off the debate of what's right and not. But that's not my point.
I don't even care much bout convention making it easy for you. Nothing is convention anymore because we have too many choices (echo?)
I want to do it right. Because i've always laughed it off, assuming, knowing somewhere deep down that i can do it perfectly - effortlessly. I'm not patient enough for it that's all. Pocket-sized dynamite i'm called.
I'm going to do it right. And there's no better time; i've been in two relationships and i'm just bout to be 17. (Not that the second one's technically over, i won't let it be, but why bring it up everywhere?)
I'm practically doodling on my papers, and twelfth is the most important year.
I have an entrance exam i desperately need to ace.
I have an image, that i will now protect.
Of course, at the end of it all, its 3:45 in the morning, I'm feeling gastric cuz there're no damn biscuits in this blooody house, and we are free to do anything we want with words.
That's the thing you know, once you say something, there's no unseen cord binding you to your word. You're free as before to defy it, just that you won't be trusted much nemore.
its just a heady hangover. I thought i saw my future, you actually went through the trouble of reading it upto here when i began with something that crazy?
Maybe tomorrow, or better, in the next life.
That's when.

and Something just took it away...

And something just took it away;

And will probably never bring it back again…

But there were to be so many more

Afternoons when I lay by your side,

Making no effort to fill in the drowsy silences…

There were so many more poor jokes to share,

And get you annoyed at my sense of humor,

And have you ask me to do sth bout my ego!

And them messages, let’s not forget that trusty medium,

What I would give to have you receive my love again,

With open arms, joyous heart, and twinkling smile.

And when you would touch me. Oh! That you did!

…You made my world darling,

I’m still faint from knowing you exist.

And when I’m spending those noons,

And nights alone instead,

I will press a finger to my lips and sigh,

No one should see me cry.