freehand

I need to find myself. I still need to know so much. As if all the knowing has come down to nothing. The struggle with self continues. As much as I know it is a boon that there is much to know (as if ever we can really know stuff), the thought of the journey overwhelms me. I'm tired, not exhausted, just tired. The good thing is that I get better with little recompence, it may be that one heals better when the wounds are one's own giving. 

I needed nothing but simple and yet each time I observe, I have all but simple. The people have faces, the places landmarks.. I know they really are. But are they? What is it that is right? What is it that is mine? This isn't a dilemma, for the way out the dilemma is a purpose or perspective. I have no idea where I am. I don't even know what this is called.

Middlemarch

He thinks with me,' said Dorothea to herself, 'or rather, he thinks a whole world of which my thought is but a poor twopenny mirror. And his felings too, his whole experience - what a lake compared with my little pool!'

...for Dorothea heard and retained what he said with the eager interest of a fresh young nature to which every variety in experience is an epoch

Into this soul-hunger as yet all her youthful passion was poured; the union which attracted her was one that would deliver her from her girlish subjection to her own ignorance, and give her the freedom of voluntary submission to a guide who would take her along on the grandest path.

There would be nothing trivial about our lives. It would be like marrying Pascal. I should learn to see the truth by the same light as great men have seen it by.

some post

I again dreamt of Panther last night. Again because his memories seem to have resurfaced. Apparently he was still there.. I dreamt that I had left him at the vets and forgot to get him back for two years thinking he was no more. He looked weak and.. he was in a shed, with a leash tied to a pole and I shuddered to think what he must have gone through all this time in the heat and the rain and the chill, this apart from the enormous guilt of having left him there. I woke up a li'l upset and aching for him. Trying to remember how it felt to hold his big fuzzy face in my hands, his ears flapping around and kiss his forehead lovingly. Even thought is delightful.

Soon exams would be over and I would begin work on the two dissertations I have to write. I hope the work helps me take the decision about whether I want to do the Phd. Btw have been comfort reading Harry Potter these days. I was on that part about Hermione making the polyjuice potion. In the end, all they need is 'a bit of the people they are changing into'. That's what keeps happening with us - for good, worse, or an hour at the most!

pummeling my pillow

Last night as I lay reading a book in my bed, I realised my life was nowhere I wanted it to be. Hark, it hardly even reflected 'me'. And yet, it was mine fair and square.. at the moment it felt if I were to go looking for my life sometime and have to pick and choose one on the basis that I would be able to recognise which one is mine, much like one is able to recognise one's clothes or one's dog, I'm gonna walk right past mine without as much as a pause. Or worse, I would knowingly walk past mine without as much as a pause. 

Morning came and along came some sense. Would never walk past my life without  yelling for all to hear, "there, there! that one's mine!" Better still, would never walk past my life at all.