Eggs in a Basket

Do you ever get the feeling that you want to just let go and run screaming at the top of your lungs down the road, up the hill, across a bridge or wherever it is that you can run to?

I do.

This year has been tumultuous to say the least. I've covered a lot of distance (not in geographical miles, but in life miles) this year. But in the process, I think I've lost a little bit of myself somewhere along the way. Just the other day, I was on the tube to work and out of nowhere, a thought popped into my head. A thought that I would look back upon this year as the year that I lost my innocence.

Ok it's not as traumatic and boo-hoo as it sounds. What I mean is I've just dealt with way too many life changing situations, decisions and moral dilemmas this year. I've been let down by people really close to me. I've had moments of intense vulnerability and for the first time this year, I've found myself alone, truly alone, in dealing with them. For the first time I haven't had a single person to turn and talk to. And this is mainly to do with the fact that I felt like the situation was mine alone to deal with.

Call me strange, but this is a new experience for me. I pride myself on having a strong support network, one that has stood me in stead in worse times.

But this time, I put my heart, soul and faith into one person - the emotional equivalent of putting all my eggs in one basket - and was let down. Rather badly. Trust was shaken, heart was chipped etc etc. So yeah, it was bad.

And so now the question remains for me to ask myself - can I teach myself to trust this basket (no that wasn't a typo) again? Can I put all my eggs (love, faith, trust, happiness, strength) into this basket again?
I think it takes a certain amount of old world naivete, of blue eyed innocence to trust like that.
And I just need to make up my mind and my heart if I can.

-----

On a different note, I updated my iPhone 4 software yesterday after my sister's insistent nagging. And I muttered and moaned my way through all 58 mins of the software update. But what's this? My 14 month old phone feels like a brand new one. It's snazzier, sharper and more gizmo -ey and I've fallen in love with it all over again.

Perhaps there's a life lesson in that.
I'll leave it for my heart to figure it out.

Blueberries and Oranges

Life is a patchwork of moments. Happy moments. Sad ones. Angry, frustrating, gut-wrenching, despairing ones.
And then there are those unassuming moments, fleeting but beautiful - they creep up on you, work themselves under your skin, wind into your hair,  grab you by the throat, take your breath away and touch your soul - visceral, animal, alive.

We have a new intern K at work and she is such a character that I find myself increasingly fascinated by her and her stories and her life. She reminds me a lot of myself at her age - ambitious, motivated and yet naive and enthusiastic.
Anyway, this post isn't about her but something she said a couple of days ago.

K decided she thinks I'm a blueberry. Yes, a blueberry. You know, the fruit.
Considering she just threw this at me while I was in the middle of a complicated excel sheet, I was a bit blindsided. Recovering my composure, I wondered if it was even worth my time to ask her what exactly she meant. Before I could make up my mind, she announced that she thought R, my boyfriend, whom she had met very recently, was an orange.
Now that completely threw me off course.

Because you see, blueberries and oranges don't go together.
Have you ever heard of a blueberry and orange smoothie? A healthy orange and blueberry salad? No.
Oranges are fresh, zesty and pack a punch. Blueberries are mellow, flavourful and squishy.
So, they don't go together. 

Clearly I was reading too much into one offhand remark and yet, I couldn't get it out of my head.

We've always been different, Him and I. We work differently but we always work together. And yet, K's offhand remark seemed to stir up some unpleasant thoughts. Were our differences so distinct and our personalities so individual so as to make us seem incompatible?

On the train back home that evening with R , I sat sulking, trying to talk some sense into myself. And when that didn't work (which to be honest, it never does), I turned to R and said, ' Do you think blueberries and oranges go together?'
To his credit, his face didn't register any surprise, nor did he show any inclination to move very far away from this very crazy woman. He heard me out as I expounded upon my oranges-and-blueberries-don't-go-together theory in great detail and with all the gravitas of recounting a major life issue.

I ended dramatically with ' So, have you EVER heard of a blueberry and orange smoothie?'
And he said ' But maybe that's what the world has been waiting for.'

And there it was. Perspective and Poetry all rolled into one moment.

I don't know how he does it.

All that glitters

So it's my birthday soon. Now I'm like a child when it comes to my birthday. I start getting excited a month in advance, and am in an almost hyperactive state of excitement the closer I get to the big day.

Yes, I know it's probably extremely naff to still care about birthdays but I can't help it. There are some things that are worth keeping that childlike wonderment about and for me it's birthdays. I love waking up with that innocent joyous knowledge that today, on your birthday, nothing can go wrong, the sense of tingly anticipation at the thought of all the little gifts and surprises your loved ones are surely secreting somewhere for you, that certainty that it's your day and it's special and whatever you really really wish for will be yours. In the words of Paulo Coelho, the universe will conspire =)

So in order to help the universe along, I start randomly dropping supremely broad hints about all the beautiful things out there that I'm just dying to have ('Oh that pink hairdryer? yes, yes it's so beautiful. *deep sigh* if only I could buy it!', 'That gorgeous red fur lined lampshade would so totally fit in my bedroom! Hmm, if only I could justify it. On a completely unrelated note, did you know it's my birthday next week?' ).

I also make random plans with long lost acquaintances (ex-colleagues, friends of friends etc) on and around my birthday, only to cancel/postpone last minute by pretending as if I had completely forgotten it was my birthday so unfortunately I have to cancel as I have other plans, but we MUST catch up soon to have birthday drinks etc etc... It's a Sneaky plan to surreptitiously let them know of my birthday see? So now they'll HAVE to call/text and wish me on birthday day and I can feel all glowy and special that they remembered. Plus, I get free birthday drinks (you say sad, I say resourceful)!

So yeah, I basically turn into a nutter roundabout this time!

And this year, I managed to achieve (what I thought) was the unachievable. I bought a sparkly dress for my birthday! Considering I've been wanting one for like forever, this is BIG! And I know it probably even more naff to want a sparkly dress than it is to get excited about birthdays but who cares?

I had been on the hunt for a dress for my birthday. This is fairly unusual for me because I rarely ever need to buy dresses for occasions, mainly because I'm such a shopaholic that I usually have ten dresses on the go, and am frantically scrambling to come up with events and occasions to wear them to. So I'm not really good at finding clothes on a need to have basis, especially since I also truly believe that the more you look for particular clothes, the more elusive they become(life lesson that).

Anyway, this year I found myself in the unusual position of having an event - my birthday party with a few of my closest friends - but NO dress. Panic not, I said to myself, this is London, one of the best places to shop in the world. Fashionistas all over the world swear by London's high street.Surely, there was something out there for me?

Apparently not.

Seemingly, London's high street turns into a sequin covered horror story this close to Christmas, with everything on offer being either glittery, sparkly, shiny or shimmery. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't hate glitter and sparkle. In fact, I love it. In a parallel universe, I would only wear shimmery dresses and sleep in a sequinned bed snuggling into my glitter covered duvet.

But it's really hard to find a dress that is beautiful, sophisticated and that glimmers with a radiant light rather that rupturing your eyeballs with its brashness. Every single sparkly dress I came across was either cut so short that you couldn't bend down without flashing everyone, or cut so deep that you were in constant danger of 'boob escape' or cut so tight that you had to basically hobble everywhere.

So there I was, rapidly losing hope and conjuring up wild ideas in my sequin addled state.
I could wear an old dress and pretend as if it was brand new and if anyone dared suggest they had seen it earlier, give them an icy glare and banish them from my facebook friends list? Social ostracism at it's worst.
Perhaps I could turn up in my pyjamas and be all 'darlliiings this is the height of fashion' (Prada did do pyjamas on the runway two years ago, you know? So I wouldn't be completely insane)

And then I saw it.. a sparkly dress that wasn't ..short, wasn't ... cut down to the navel and wasn't cut for an anorexic 10 year old. I could barely believe it. It was a grown up but glamorous sparkly dress. I almost had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't hallucinating in my glitter induced despairing state.

True, it wasn't the most fabulous dress out there and it didn't take my breath away but when I put it on, I felt .. happy AND (this is going to sound ridiculous) sparkly!

And so I bought it. A sparkly dress that makes me sparkle!

I have a feeling it's going to be a great birthday ;)

Make your own happy

I've been told a number of times I'm an idealist. At first, I took it as a compliment.. Idealist wow! They're meant to be a dying out species, aren't they?
I never really stopped to consider what the term actually meant and how it applied to me and others definitions of me.

Over the past few months however, I've been forced to confront the reality of what being an idealist means. I was reading an article in this weeks 'Sunday Times STYLE' section about a novelist talking about how she used to be an avid bookworm when she was younger..so much so that she used to drown herself in books all the time till the day her dad placed a 'reading ban' on her 11 year old self and said 'you need to learn how to confront reality'.

I was quite shocked when I read that because A) I couldn't imagine a father forbidding his daughter to 'read' of all things, I firmly believe reading is one of the most wholesome activities for children and adults alike B) the story resonated so much with me - not because my dad has ever banned me from reading - I'd like to see him try! but because the same words about 'facing reality' had been said to me quite a few times in the past few months.

It got me thinking.. has my love for books turned into a 'dependency' on books? Do I use reading as an escape from 'reality' when everything gets too tough? Has my passion for books turned me into an idealist?
Ummm..the short answer is 'yes'. Reading is my escape. I can dive into other's worlds when sometimes mine gets a bit too much for me. But that has never meant that I shirk my responsibilities, shy away from dealing with problems or pretend the world is perfect and beautiful.

On the flip side, it has given me a predisposition for 'happy ever afters', a fairly romantic view of the world and a hyperactive imagination! So yes, I do come across as an idealist to most people who know me because I expect things to be a certain way, expect people to be the best version of themselves, I trust easily, can be fairly naive and am supremely empathetic to others points of view - all of which characteristics are my strengths and weaknesses in equal measure.
So yes, I guess reading has made me a bit of an idealist!

But I won't apologise for it because what reading has given me is my 'happy place'. When I read, I'm happy, no two ways about that! It's the most unadulterated form of happiness available to me. And it's mine, completely mine. So reading is my gift to myself.

I make my own happy because nobody else can!

Wanting

I want to dance to rubbish bollywood songs
I want to buy beautiful indian jewellery and stagger around wearing it
I want to stay at home the whole day watching movies
I want everyone to just Grow up
I want to laugh and laugh and laugh
I want to go on a long holiday with my girlfriends
I want to go on a long holiday with my boyfriend
I want to go on a long holiday by myself
I want to laze by the beach reading my favourite books
I want to buy my sister the most spectacular 21st birthday gift ever
I want to find a cool wallpaper for my mac
I want to have a fabulous manicure (oh and a pedicure!)
I want some time on my own
I want some time with my friends
I want to stop being so contradictory
I want to do big things with my life
I want to never stop being idealistic
I want my hair to behave itself
I want to invent a switch with which I can just switch off my thinking
I want to be inspired and inspirational
I want tomorrow to be a better day than today

Rain on my parade

Went to the heavily anticipated TASTE festival last evening. I had practically starved myself so that I could binge eat on the lovely delicacies on offer. I had been looking forward for months!
And what happened?
It rained and rained and rained for the 4 hours were there.
Oh and did I mention it was an outdoor event? In a park?
It was wet, soggy, squelchy, muddy..ugh! Not at all conducive to dining on fine cuisine. Unless you're a frog or a duck or some such water obsessed creature, in which case it's all fun and games!

True it had been a grey kind of day with a few scattered showers - the kind of thing that passes for summer here in London. THAT I was prepared for and could manage. But for it to literally turn into waterfest for the few hours we were there was just bad timing or bad luck!
And I took it all very personally. After all, it hadn't rained like that in ages. And it didn't rain the whole day before the festival and the sky cleared up magically on our way back and it's been a lovely dry day today so far. So yes, it felt very personal.

I stomped around with a sour face under my umbrella, agonising over the frizzy afro style mess my hair was turning into, glaring at everyone who dared accidentally poke me with their umbrella and feeling like I could scream except I was afraid I would drown under the amount of water I might swallow.
Clearly everyone else there felt the same, they were all trudging around in their macs and umbrellas with grumpy faces and resigned body language. Trying resolutely to HAVE FUN because they had paid for it!
Anyway, despite the neck deep mud and amazon rain forest conditions - we still managed to EAT something! Yay! I was half expecting the food to taste of mud and squelch as well, but it didn't. It was awesome!
And after a few lovely warm tasters and experimental desserts.. I felt the anger and upset subside a little (even my afro deflated a bit).
Buoyed by the moment, I turned to the BF to complain anew about the weather.
'It's such a shame about the weather!'
'I know'
'I wish it would just stop. It's sooo annoying!'
'I know'
'I'm really pissed off. What a waste of a lovely opportunity..'
'But you know what the amazing thing is?'
'What?' Fairly shocked he could still find something to be amazed by, unless it was the size of my afro (it was growing again)
'That we can still manage to have fun and enjoy ourselves no matter what', he smiled.

And that, ladies and gents, was that.
The sun came bursting through(metaphorically of course), the afro deflated (still metaphorically) and my smile widened (literally this time).

Life was good again :)

My very own Carrie moment!

So for a long long time, my dad,one of my closest friends and my boyfriend were after my life to start writing again because for some weird reason they thought I was an OK writer with 'some potential'. Potential to do what I don't know, and upon more prodding, they didn't either but anyway, they insisted I write!
Now, I love writing but I was caught up in doing so many other things that I just didn't feel inspired enough to write! So I really dragged my feet on the whole issue and procastinated like anything.
Anyway, when i finally did get around to it, one of the efforts to start writing again involved resurrecting my blog and the other involved writing articles and sending them in to magazines etc.
And who knew, minor miracles happen! London magazine Stylist picked up on my article and published it online.

Here's the link.

http://www.stylist.co.uk/stylist-network/readers-column/readers-column-a-modern-arrangement

Thanks to the lovely ladies at Stylist :) It's a small dream come true to have my article published - very 'Sex and the City'!! I'll cherish this for a long long time :)

Tastefully done!

So I was thinking about food.
And how much I love it.
I go to sleep at night reliving my dinner and anticipating my breakfast, after breakfast I think of lunch and after lunch I think of dinner and after dinner.. ah..you get the picture.
I think I have a very needy relationship with food. If food was a man, he would be the adulterous, not caring a crap about my feelings, macho stud kind of man. And I would be the starved for affection, needy, weepy, bottomed out on self esteem kind of woman. I would follow him around and accuse him of not spending enough time with me. He would not pick up my calls and I would leave 27 voicemails.Seriously unhealthy.
I used to be fat (or chubby or 'healthy'- whatever you prefer) till I was about 21 - at which point I woke up one day and realised that if I continued my needy desperate kind of relationship with food, it would soon be pretty much the only relationship I would ever have. So I strengthened my resolve, chucked my box of krispy kreme doughnuts out the window and embarked on 6 months of healthy living and exercise.
and ta-daah! emerged svelte(ish) and sexy(ish) on the other side.
So now I think I have a normal(ish) kind of relationship with food. True, I still spend exorbintante amounts of time fantasising about it but other than that, I think it's all pretty much in check.
Except when I'm all booked to go to the TASTE festival this weekend - which is only the most fabulous festival for foodies! TASTE is this super-duper concept wherein all the greatest and bestest restaturants get together and pitch tents at Regent's Park and offer their fabulously delicious and ridiculously expensive food in tapas sized portions and at (relatively)reasonable prices. It's a poor foodie's paradise! What a great concept..I wish I'd come up with it!
I live in London, which has some of the most feted and fabulous restaurants in the world and it's always been a source of deep sadness to me that I'm too poor to go to most of them. Seriously, it's either pay the rent or eat a 3-course meal - they're that expensive.
But thankfully, some bright soul came up with this idea and made people like me very happy.
So yeah, that's on Friday. I've given myself leave to have a guilt-free time food fantasising this week. I've printed out my TASTE menu and have spent hours poring over it highlighting the dishes I want to have in order of priority.
Ah..life is good!

In consistency

wow - talk about consistency! After swearing myself purple in the face that I WILL BLOG, of course i promptly DID NOT BLOG. And the person who feels the most let down about this is me. This was supposed to be my release, my little space where I can just let out the words that usually swirl around in my head.

Last two months have been weird and a bit tough.
Weird in a good way. Have been busy at work, exciting things are happening. Have been home to visit my mum and just reeelllaaax. And been to bangalore, to attend a friend's wedding - a christian wedding! where I was bridesmaid. Oh it was fun! other than the fact that I was promised hot men in uniform at the wedding (the groom's in the navy) and there were none at all! Sigh! But it was three days of hanging out with my dearest friends, staying up late to gossip, dressing up, going out. How would a girl survive without her girlfriends?

So yeah, it's all been fun and good.
But tough - and not in such a good way.
It's strange but whereas everything seems ok - I feel as though I need to question every single aspect of my life. Question the choices i'm making, the decisions I'm taking. I feel a bit powerless somehow, powerless to move the rudder of the boat that is my life and steer it in the way I want it to. And the main problem is that i don't know as yet where I want to be and hence where to steer to.
Self-help gurus would tell me to write down my goals-short-term and long term and work my way towards them! Easier said than done, I say. Received wisdom (aka my wise and wonderful girlfriends) say this is the rule as opposed to the exception. Apparently, it's ok to feel a bit directionless. So I'm trying not to be too hard on myself and just let things be.
The one (and Only) big lesson i've learnt in life so far is that everything happens in its own time, every dog has its day etc etc.
But letting go is hard! grrrr...

It's weird how this blog stirs up the emotions in me. I totally did not want to blog about this. i wanted to talk about the wedding and my bridesmaid dress - which was really lovely but was made of this flammable sort of polysilk material which meant I spent most of the day dangerously close to going up in flames. Oh and the polysilk+bangalore heat=sweat patches which meant that I was attempting to do all my bridesmaidenly duties with my arms pinned to my sides, mortified should i raise them and shock the world with views of hideous sweat patches. I haven't seen the wedding photos as yet but am convinced the sweat patches will overshadow the loveliness of the bride by a mile! Oh well..

But But it was a lovely wedding. With a lot of joy and love and happiness..so much so that i felt enveloped in a protective cocoon. It was like attending the beggining of a happily ever after!
Ah..I wish them the best of life!

Till next time x

after hours

It's after 5:30 pm and I'm sitting here..still at work.. no idea when I'll be able to leave. It's soooooo frustrating! Mind you, it's one of those weeks anyway where everything is frustrating but this staying after hours is truly frustrating. It's just gotten me thinking, I've never really worked anywhere but in London and I wonder what the work-life balance situation is in different cities across the world?
Work-Life balance is something I've been thinking about a lot over the past few months (see previous post). All my friends who've worked in India say there is NO such thing as work-life balance there. Most people work on Saturdays, it's common enough to bring work home and work over the weekends. And here's the funny thing, apparently most people don't mind! Really?
Hmmm..now in the UK, Londoners are amongst the hardest workers with us working approximately 33% longer hours than the rest of the UK. Plus add to that the higher number of hours involved in travelling to work and it all adds up to insane hours (FYI, I spend two hours a day travelling..and I think that deserves a whole new post of its own). But even then, we're apparently on holiday compared to the intense work hours that my friends tell me people put in in India. Which is why weekends are sacred here. In fact, barely anybody gets any work done on a Friday evening and most people are out of the office by 4ish.
Which is all well and good, except for the fact that none of it really helps my current situation. I.want.to.go.home. Aaaaaaarrrggghhhh!
Plus I really really wanted to go to the gym today! And it frustrates me that I have to sit here watching my fat cells multiply and my cellulite wobble. I wonder if there's any legal loophole where I can sue my employer for making me fat? And then they'd have to pay for my plastic surgery!And then I could get the body I always wanted! Ah fantasyland!
Growing up in India, the 'work hard, play not so hard' discipline was always grilled into us. Everybody like everybody works hard there which means in order to get ahead in the rat race, people start staying late at work or working weekends, but then everybody else also starts staying late or working weekends, then a whole new way of 'i-am-a-harder-worker-than-thou'has to be invented. It's a vicious cycle this one-upmanship. Which is not to say it doesn't happen here in London. It definitely does, and I for one, am no longer interested in playing the game any longer.
Actually that's a lie.
I'm fairly ambitious and know that I won't get anywhere in life if I don't play the game at least a little bit. But can I step off the field for just a little bit? I think I have a part-hippy gene which consistently collides with my Type-A gene which is why I constantly oscillate between two states of being. Which is fine. It all adds to my rather charming allure I think. No?
Anyway, it is now 6:05 pm and there is no sign of the brand consultant I'm supposed to be meet... Oh..hang on..right! he's here. Gotta go guys!

Update: I finally escaped at 7:15pm(after a surprisingly fruitful meeting), after which I did make it to the gym (yay me!) till the cleaner finally kicked me out (true story!) whereupon I went home and had a meal worthy of someone who's been starving for five days (again, true story). A day well spent!

Get Out There

It's been one of those weeks.AND its only Wednesday!
I'm not normally one to get all moany and grumpy about work because to be honest, I love what I do.
(Sidenote: I work in Fashion. and before you get all 'oooooo, how glamorous! must be such fun' yada yada.. Let me tell you, it's not glamorous at all. It's mostly a lot of panicking, constantly calling up people and begging them to deliver that fabric or this dress, loads of drama and tears, and a mild reminder from someone when I'm on the verge of a breakdown that 'It's only clothes..' - at which point I have a complete breakdown! Anyway, more on this later. but yeah, I work in Fashion.)
So back to my shitty week. I live and work in London, which is such a great place to be working in Fashion. The city is crawling with self-proclaimed fashionistas! It's vibrant, alive and a melting pot of ideas, thoughts and inspiration! I work with a luxury fashion brand - it's a small company and a small team. London is full of loads of small businesses and you would be surprised at how many 'Fashion Labels' involve approximately 3-4 people squirelling away behind the scenes. It's no wonder nervous breakdowns and high drama are routine in this business cosnidering the insane workload most of handle and don't get paid for. Which I guess brings us neatly to my shitty day.
So, working within a small company means that I'm consistently juggling 25 balls at once. Normally I thrive on the diversity and high paced nature of my role but of late a niggling voice in my head has been saying 'Is this all there is to it?'. A wise person once said to me that every job has a 'shelf life', the proverbial 'tipping point' - a point at which you realise that actually, I've learnt all there is to learn and I could be doing a whole lot more. And I guess, I've reached that point where I feel like I need to move on. Realisation is a great thing, acceptance is even better but where it goes all pear-shaped for me in this situation is motivation, the determination to go out there and Do Things(Gawd, I could so NOT be an alcoholic, I would totally fail the AA Five step programme).
Which is very weird, considering motivation is the one thing I'm good at. I've always been a really self-motivated person, barging on and taking charge of my life. But But But,you guys, this is the first time in my life that I'm comfortable.I may not be on the route to greatness, but I'm happy. For the most part, all is well in my life. Work may not be the most satisfying, but it's still fun. Family is hale and hearty and the love life is doing gooood (yes, more on that later as well). So I guess, the fire in my belly has dimmed a little bit and I'm wary of stoking it up again. I'm a bit apprehensive of upsetting the tiny semblance of balance that I have in my life at the moment. And let's be honest, I'm afraid of what I may find out there..what if nobody wants me? It's a shit economy, there are NO jobs out there, and what if I go out there and nobody wants me? Scary stuff.
However, as the aforementioned wise person said to me, I can't let that stop me. I HAVE to get myself off my arse and Do Things.
And I guess they're right. So I'm hoping the next few months see me motivating myself and going out there and getting that job.So yes, I'll lose the careful balance I've achieved somehow, but you know, this fire in my belly thing won't go away and I know I'll slowly start hating myself if I don't go out there and Do the Things I'm supposed to be doing. I'm still young and unburdened and the fire in my belly isn't giving me acidity as yet.. so yeah, it's about the right time to motivate myself.
I'll let you know how I get on :)

One

First off, I'm not entirely sure how I ended up back here. You see, I used to blog aaaggges ago. And then I stopped. I'm not entirely sure why but I remember thinking I'd had enough of 'it'. What 'it' was eludes my memory.. Aaanyyyhooo, It doesn't really matter, does it? I'm here now.
Couple of things.
Shout out to my friend who convinced me I needed to get back to writing. For some reason, she thought I was a great read (you know, back in the day when I used to blog. Keep up). I was initially mystified that she'd somehow wanted to mention this very random thought to me some five years after the demise of my earlier blog. But more than that I was secretly pleased. You see, I'd always wanted to be a great writer.. someone who inspired through words.. so I guess the very fact that there existed at least ONE person in the whole world who thought I was vaguely good and wanted me to get back to writing so she could read more, was wildly flattering (also, mildly insulting, it took her FIVE years to let me know??Think of all the great writing the world has been deprived of?).
Anyway, I have been itching to write for a while anyway. Good or not, I guess is besides the point. I read so much in a day that after a while it all sort of is pouring out on its own really.
And yes, I do tend to overthink things. Case in point being the title of the blog, which took me a good 15 minutes to decide on (15 MINS???WTF??What sort of a dodgy mock amateur writer am I? Aren't words just supposed to be poring out of me?). So I tried coming up with some really witty name for the blog, but of course the whole point about wit is that it eludes you when you need it most, rather annoyingly. So after floundering around for a bit, I figured I'd just call a spade a spade and call myself the overthinker.Because that is What I Do. I don't think, I Overthink. So then I thought, holdonaminnit, is 'overthought' one word or two? A quick Google search revealed mixed results. I think its one word, but am still not sure. Then I spent another 5 mins or so wondering if people would be confused by the title, if they'd think my life 'over' thought meant I'd chosen life over thought.Although now that I'm typing it, it doesn't really make any sense whatsoever, so I'm not sure why I assumed the worst of my potential readers.
Aaaannnyyyway, there you go, this is how it is inside my head. Aren't you glad you're out there and not in here? ;)
Later ya'all!