It's around six a.m. (ignore the blog clock I think it's showing India time). I've got nowhere to go except for the gym. Everytime I skip the gym I've promised myself that I will make an articulate excuse on this very blog as to why I haven't gone. I'm very creative.
This last hour or so I couldn't sleep because I discovered something, tossing and turning. I don't understand sleep. I have vivid dreams about failing math tests and I don't understand how this is restful. I wonder if God sleeps and like in what time zone? Has She ever dreamt of me? And if She doesn't sleep or dream, than why did she make us this way? Bailing out of life for like eight hours a day. Doing absolutely nothing for eight whole hours. It's kind of weirdly interesting. Whatever.
Oh yeah, for those of you who assumed I was Mexican or something because of my name, I am Indian. I wonder if this changes the way you see me. Do you see me as someone who is really good at math? I failed math, not only in my dreams but in highschool too. I don't think I was rebelling against being Indian really, I think I was rebelling against numbers. Now those very numbers are rebelling against me...in my bank account...on the scale....
Us "creative types" us "insane types" us who don't follow the mold, if we are Indian or Irish, know one thing, the mold was so contsticting it gave us scars. I walk around with those scars inside me. I dissapointed my parents by not getting married, not having a stable career, and not having children. Hell, those things dissapoint me on bad days.
There's a part of me that wants to be exactly like everybody else. Then there's a part of me that knows better, knows that if I wasn't so alone some days, I would not understand my life. Knows that people with kids and a house are so alone some days they don't get it either. A part of me knows that a part of me is exactly like everybody else.
So it doesn't matter that I don't have a man, a mortgage and a child (Damn it I was trying to go with the M theme, the poet in me). That's it, Me. I have myself.
Enough of this.
I have a master's degree in writing and I can't spell. What does that tell you about college? I thought college would get me a career in writing, I even went to the Ivy Leagues, I can't even spell their name correctly. That's not my school's fault. I should have read the dictionary or something. They say geniuses can't spell. Well idiots can't spell either. Idiots can use a treadmill. Sometimes idiots are skinnier than you. ---I know irrelevant right?---but before i go to the gym I need to be reminded that any idiot can lay around...even monkeys like to move.
I don't move enough.