I love to write. To imagine that a thousand people are going to read my opinions, be so wowed and overwhelmed by the presence of an infinitely superior mind and perspective. To think that they will be amazed at what clarity and alacrity one can possess about things high and sundry on this planet.

Just that I have not exhibited any such perspicacious intellectual atrocities (yet), and more importantly, I just don’t write enough.

Let me explain. Every day, from two minutes before I wake up to the end of my shower, I have a hajjar thoughts vying for attention, and claiming to be blog-worthy (Yea, I know. It’s a sad life when everything is accosted with a question “Can I write a blog about that?”, but that’s what most of us are thinking. Gone are the good old days when all woman-kind could think of was shopping, and all man-kind could think of was the aforementioned woman-kind completely bereft of the clothes they were vehemently shopping for). But the moment I step out of the shower, Zoop! Nothing. Zilch. Nada. The writer’s block hits me like a quintal of bricks and I’m out for the day.

While I go through my day zombed by data and its many idiosyncrasies, and people and their many more idiosyncrasies; sarcastic comments, ideas, even complete short stories revisit me from the time in the shower. But alas! I’m busy working and too frickin’ lazy to do anything about them. Can’t tell you how many blog-worthy stories have been lost because of not having a pen attached to the toilet paper roll. (Nope. Don’t even try to imagine. Do NOT bother).

Waited for weekend trips to get good pictures. Collected good topics so that one fine day (ONE FINE DAY) I can write about them. Tried picking stuff from work. After work. My brain ran out of disk space. Still too lazy.

So I decided. To just write. About nothingness. Even that seems blog-worthy now. Ha! to you.

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