Therapy

I need therapy.

I have established that I am qualified to treat myself.

(Ask me how and I'll tell you to "Go jump in a ditch". Go on, ask me how, and see how I'll copy paste that. Obviously, you can't behold the flair with which my big, fat fingers execute the well practiced Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V gesture. Your loss. Boo hoo. Whine like a bitch now.)

Given the dearth of something (forget the qualifiers "good" or even "decent") to write, I have decided that I will document this on this blog. Mainly because I have decided to use "writing" as a therapeutic tool. Now, don't argue with me about how this won't work - what do you know about "therapy" anyway?

So, here's a warning...if you are a wimp, keep away from this blog. Not that anyone reads it anyway. Also, I'm not entirely sure how it might harm you if you were a wimp. I mean, I'm the most average-esque guy one could encounter. I personally personify the bulge of the Gaussian distribution. I know that you didn't ask how that could be the case...but I will punish you just for existing by giving you the reason why I said so...

I'm an Indian guy, who has completed engineering from one of the "good" colleges, after which, has been recruited by one of the biggest recruiter of all time, and has taken the most used exit option to do an MBA, and is presently cribbing about how life has not turned out according to plan, while unabashedly forgetting that there was never a plan. Also, given that I'm a part of the "1/3rds Group" (Apparently, chicks dig Tall, Dark, Handsome men. I'm Dark (ONLY, I haste to add) - so, statistically, I've a chance with every third chick I meet, no? Or maybe, I just didn't understand the theory of Conditional Probability), and the fact that I don't look like anyone who would appear in any of the advertisements (barring this brilliant Bingo ad), and have been in approximately 1.5 relationships, and know 4 different languages, I believe makes me the statistical mean of the Indian men. Go on and refute me on this, and see how I ignore you. Go on, try it.

So, basically, keep away if you don't want to be bored to death.

Regards,

The Mean Guy.

Purple Musings

I sit in a purple cubicle. The sort of purple that a deep purple colored gift wrapper would turn to, if allowed to rot inside a cupboard for a long time. Or the purple of a melting blueberry ice-cream. I have a laptop provided by the company and a cubicle-mate from college. Nowadays, we stare at our laptop screens all day...just to produce the illusion of reading and comprehending the plethora of documents that explain what we maybe doing in the near future. That is because we are done reading and comprehending. Nobody notices the quotes from Sandman that I have stuck all around, which is good, lest they goad them to commit suicide. There doesn't seem to be anything else to do, mostly because I am not having anything close to an existential crisis...otherwise I would have entertained myself by complaining endlessly about everything to everyone and watch them cringe. Oh, only that I can’t help but feel ashamed that I have reduced all the highs in my life to single-lined bullet points to whore myself out as a corporate gimp…but I can’t complain about it yet, as I have only just started “working”. So, to sum it up, I'm bored.

We go to the 5th floor twice everyday for the beverages, and the lunch too is served there. I have stopped cribbing about the food after my stay in Surathkal...anything can beat the crap we used to get in Mysore Mess I or the Bombay Mess. But that's not to say that the food here isn't good. The junta are warm and friendly...the kind one would expect at in any IT company. But this isn’t an IT sweatshop. We have been intimated that we will be leaving in a month or so. That might be the reason why we aren't really socializing as we normally would have. The work is generally non-existent. The socializing and networking is restricted to only that can be done in person. So, to beat myself out of going into a coma, I decided to read the copious amount of verbal diarrhea that has been generated on the inter-web by some friends, and some other FOAFs.

To be honest, once in a while, I did come across some brilliant writing, and mostly, it was an enjoyable experience reading peoples’ rants. But there were a few times when I couldn’t help but stare at the screen with utter astonishment, wondering what possessed the author to write what he had posted. For instance, there is Yak’s work. It is like coming out of a cinema hall after watching American Psycho with a girl you want to marry…you don’t know whether to comment about the brilliant execution of the subject, or to express feigned disgust on the content. Not that you would meet your future wife while loafing through the blogosphere. But I don’t want to burn this bridge…not yet.

Generally, one thing that I noticed across the many blogs, barring a few, was a definite overflow of narcissism, which I realized was what blogging was about. Apparently, it came to be as: Web Log => We Blog => Blog. So, I guess I should just blog and stop yapping about how others are so stuck up with themselves. I have come to realize that maybe for many, narcissism is a survival mechanism, akin to self-deception. Oh, one more thing…apparently Freud said that people in love are humble because they have pawned their narcissism. Its time I redeemed it then, what with all the puskal badnekai avatar of love in my life.

So, from now on, it’s going to be “I may blog. Therefore I may be”.