I don't have an idea. I seriously can't keep track of things. And I am pretty sure I can't do anything about my pre-occupation. I am like always thinking of somethingelse, talking to some non-existent entity, in a distant universe.
How long can I survive this world while I live in another? Till sometime back I had managed to pull myself through with the excuse of being different. But that doesn't look possible naymore. My tricks are failing me. My alibi doesn't shield me naymore. And I wonder..
My life has been moderately okayish. Except a couple of them, I haven't kept many qualms. I have grown up like a person inside a person, pretty much in isolation.
There aren't any externalities in my life. I have created a shell around, and I am very cosy inside it. Almost always asleep. So when in *this* world people call my name, I am always shaken out of sleep. Can I afford this? I wonder..
I have had this hopelesslyromantic love affair with the written word. I am madly passionate about sorrow. Solitude turns me on. I am at peace with a slower pace. I have always*always had it mY own way. And now change looks like the last thing in the universe (yours and mine) that we can bring about. I don't have the slightest idea about how to revert to mundanity..
So nor will I..