Oh screw the world, I’m sick of life already.
All right. This is my world at the moment
I am obsessing over having nothing to obsess about. This is not how I used to be. 3 years ago there used to be the Mangrove forest… you see, I was going to save it. I had a mission in life: saving the mangroves. True it never got any further than the mission statement which consisted of three words “Save the mangroves!” but at least it was something to live for. The great cause for which young people live and die and go to Woodstock for, but then, like everything, the movement died out. BUT today, Dawn reports that the Karachi government is launching a Mangroves Protection drive. Cheats. I started the whole thing before you. You fucking bureaucratic copycats.
But before the Mangroves there was Russian Literature. There were the Brothers Karamazov (who were all psycho or sociopaths in their own rights), and Fathers and Sons (a wonderful piece of work, Turgenev was brilliant) and the Idiot (the only person in the book who wasn’t an idiot was the idiot) and Gogol’s the Overcoat and Diary of a Madman and Lost souls and yes, I read all of them, every single convoluted-sentence-within-sentence filled page and it made me a bit of who I was. I was the Girl Who Read Russian Literature. And now I can’t complete Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Management. I’ve issued it twice and haven’t crossed the 50 page mark. You would think I’d have progressed mentally with age, rather than regressing to near- jahil status.
I blame this on Professional Education (!)
And like always, on myself. Sigh.
And now life is all about waiting for things to happen. At least that’s how it’s been for the past two days. Two days. My god. This is what would be politely referred to as a complete-lack-of-perspective.