My pumpkin pies!
I think Quarter life crisis has struck me bad! While it's obviously one of the worst things to happen, a teeny tiny part of me, loves how filmy it makes my life sound. Well, Chic-flickish to be precise. So grab a bowl of popcorn and listen to me rant rather dramatically about why the feeling of dumpey-ness has been shamelessly following me around.
Well, I used to think I was the 'girl with the plan'. I'm suddenly not so sure anymore. If I don't spend the rest of my life writing, my soul will die and disintegrate. But if I spend my entire life only writing and nothing else, then my self worth with die and disentegrate. I will wake up every morning, feeling like a useless, worthless, potato of a person who has done nothing. Achieved nothing! So I have a long list of other things that I simply have to do. But the list is so long that I don't know how I'm going to do all of it. If I pay more attention to one, I'll feel like I'm neglecting the other. If I try to do the thing I'm neglecting, there will be some fifty other things biting me slowly at the back of my head leading to a serious cause of mental explosion. And if I try to do justice to all of them, my entire being will die and disintegrate. All that and more before I'm old enough to suffer from mid-life crisis!
Omg! This system! So much pressure! I don't even know what PG program I am going to do next year. Or which Universities I should be looking at. Should I even be doing a PG program next year or should I jump to join the first company that offers me an amazing job? Should I work and then study? Study and then work? Or should I work, study and handle being a bag-wali side by side?
What about money? Will I make enough to live the life of a splurgina? Will I find happiness in whatever I do? Will I be healthy at the same time? Or will I find a desk job that swells me to the size of a char bacho wali ma? Will I find a hot-as-hell boyfriend? Will I move in with him or get married right away? Will I find a sexy-sexy husband or will I have to depend on my folks to hook me up with a rich balding guy who'll throw a lavish wedding in return for pressing his feet for the rest of my life and running towards him with a glass of water everytime he screams Lajo-Lajo(or whatever shady name he'll come up with) ?
So as of now, I basically feel like the dumpey protagonist, who is sitting on an arm chair wearing pink sweatpants, stuffing herself with her 48th bowl of chocolate ice-cream and listening to some very melancholy music, worrying herself sick about how and when and where and if and but , everything will fall into place.
But but but, since it is a chick-flick, everything has to get sorted out no? So let's say the gorgeous actress will wake up to find a swanky pink car in her garage, an appointment letter from Vogue sitting by her bedside and drop dead gorgeous boy, who has climbed in through the window to confess his undying love for her. The two of them will break into song and dance. The heavens will bring forth rain in the hot Summer. Everybody will live happily ever after!
And that my dear friends is the end of my story.
So long!
More wishful thinking later :D
