my lost mojo

I have nothing to say.

It's rare and I am worried for myself. We had an office party last Friday and I was uninterested and all I could think of was going home. After a couple of Vodkas, all I could think of was more Vodka and going home. I finally left at 10pm. Under normal circumstances, I would have made plans to stay at someone's house or something. But I just didn't want to.

I had an all night shoot for my film on Saturday night. I was overtly stressed, on the edge and very unapproachable. Even the male model smiled at me occasionally and instead of giving him a nice flirty look right back I looked pained and frustrated. At the end of the shoot all I was thinking about was the hours of editing and voice recording that will slowly take over my life for the next two weeks.

Two people asked me to meet them during the weekend and I have made excuses. If this continues all I will have left are Internet friends who are satisfied with an occasional mail and a smiley emoticon.

At work I sit at my desk. This is a huge deal because normally the last place you look for me is at my desk. Which is probably why no one can find me any more. I eat lunch alone. Either reading my book or listening to my i-pod, both are deemed to be very anti-social.
More than one person in the office has asked me if I am okay. Are you sick? Do you need some medication? How come you're so quite? Check for fever.

Throughout my journey to work and back home I have my eyes closed and I listen to music that calms me. There was a fight in the train and I didn't know until someone pushed me and I saw two women tugging at each other. Not that I would intervene anyway, but under normal circumstances I would at least be aware.

My conversation is strained. My interest in things outside my own existence has diminished. I don't look at, let alone talk to the guy sitting next to me - so much so he has invested in a pair of earphones and bobs his head to his music while I listen to mine.
If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, I guess.

People think I am just still stuck in vacation mode. Maybe. My body is here, but my mind is so far away it's scary. I think I have just changed. That's a good excuse isn't it?

I need to snap out of it. This is getting me nowhere.

It's ruining my mood. It's depleting my energy. It's robbing me of my personality.

In short, it's got my mojo.

myrmecophobia-ish

I may have it.

How else would you explain the screaming and the paranoia that “they’re on me”?

I have a couple of incidents that probably caused it. The first was in junior school when I stepped into a hill and they were all over me. And they were running up my legs and two boys from my class (both who liked me) were frantically trying to “rub” them off my legs and thighs. Then one of them tried to carry me to class. And I wouldn’t have it, instead I escaped running with them, still all over me, to the girl’s toilet to wash them off.

Another time was when I was in college. We were at a picnic and I was drinking something, with a cola in it. And I put the glass on the ledge of the balcony while I was talking to this friend. About five minutes later, I picked it up, without looking and put it towards my mouth. And then, through the corner of my eye, I could see movement in my glass. They entered my glass, swimming in my drink, thousands of them, now running up my hand out of the glass.

This morning, I had a nice bath. Clean and feeling pretty I grabbed my hot pink towel and wrapped it around me. And I felt a little bite on my arm. I saw one and screamed. I immediately took of the towel and saw about 35 of them all over my upper body. I quickly turned on the shower again and frantically washed them off me. And asked for another towel to be passed to me.

I heard a story about one falling into a girl’s eye from a tree and it bit her eye ball and got stuck. I have also seen a flying one. That’s right, people… the source of my paranoia now has wings. All the better to “get me” with.

I abhor them anywhere close to me. I think about them and my skin crawls, I feel a shiver and scratch the back of my neck, and rub my arms. If there is just one of them, I’m fine and I feel power as I crush it. But there is never only one. They move in large swarms.

There was even an animated film on them. Apparently it was very “cute”. I cannot bring myself to watch it. The name of the film creeps me out. My skin crawls, I feel a shiver and scratch the back of my neck, and rub my arms, again.

They’re ants. By the way.

Shudder.

what becomes of the broken hearted?

If love grabs you by the balls, this is my version, of what heart-break does to you...and, trust me, it's happened oh-too-many times:

You are sitting pretty in a big beautiful bubble, staring at the soap-watery colours of the rainbow that surround you, and life is blissful.

Suddenly a big, hairy fist appears, as if out of nowhere. It jabs the bubble and grabs you tight.
It reaches into your mouth, down your throat, clawing at your beating heart. You can’t bite down, you can’t breath, you can’t throw up, you can’t scream out. It wrenches your heart right out, through your throat and out of your mouth, throwing it violently on the floor. Another fist punches you in the gut, leaving you writhing and empty, staring at the blood-stained life-giver, struggling to keep its beat.

And you lie there, trying to breath. And just when you start again, you allow yourself, dim-wittedly, to be consumed by another blissful, soapy bubble.

picking up the pieces

Jetlag is killing me. I have been up most of the night at the computer, or tossing and turning in my bed. My bed. I haven’t slept in it for over eight months. It needs to get my shape again.

My room was so clean when I arrived, thanks to my wonderful parents. But it is now a mess again with everything pouring out of three suitcases.

The flight did not seem long at all. I guess I wasn’t as eager to come back as I was to get there. Luckily I did not have anyone sitting by me through the entire trip, so I could stretch my legs across three seats, listen to my ipod and reminisce about the most amazing holiday I have had in a long time. Missing the faces that kept me company for two whole months.

I met my niece, who as soon as I arrived from a long flight and an even longer immigration wait, gave me the most beautiful toothless smile I have ever seen, that it made everything worth while. Through out my trip she made me fall deeper into love with her, with everything she did – even poopie in the potty.

I met my sisters, who tried their best to make me have the best time ever – taking me out, exposing me to fantastic cuisine, making me stuff, buying me stuff (aren’t sisters fab?)

I met new friends who showed me a great time everywhere we went. Who were older than me by years, but never once made me feel uncomfortable, who were nice enough to make time for me, to get to know me, even though they weren’t on holiday.

I met a girl friend I have known for nine years, my best friend in college, and I realized that even after not being together everyday for almost three years, we picked up exactly where we left off. She showed me a super time in New York, that happy hour was the happiest.
I totally trusted her, again, with my thoughts. And I realized that she is and always will be my best friend- even if we don’t say it all the time like corny sisterhood women.

I met a guy friend from school. He was one year my junior, and was, as my memory recalls a short blue-house boy, with thick glasses, who giggled in the line going to assembly in the mornings. He’s no longer short, he doesn’t have the glasses (well actually he does, but contacts have prevailed), but deep down, he is still a little blue house boy – with traumatic childhood stories that end in him crying.
He picked me up and reached me home, introduced me to bolis and fishbowls, took me on midnight walks in a park, introduced me to trespassing on private lakes, long walks on the beach and a whole new vocabulary. And, just by being him, made the last few days of my trip, the best.

I feel as if I left bits of my heart in Staten Island, Connecticut, New Jersey and Georgia.

And now I am back in Bombay. Picking up the pieces.

crikey!

I heard on the news yesterday that Steve Irwin died because a sting ray jabbed his heart with its poisonous barb. That seems to me like such an unbelievably ironic thing to happen. This is the guy who used to wrestle crocs and play with pythons. What a way to go.

It’s like when the headlines said that Superman fell from his horse and broke his back - it could never happen to Superman. Steve Irwin was the “superman” of the wild, I thought.

He was one of those guys who could go out and do that and people would stand on the sidelines, biting their fingers, but always reassured that this guy knew what he was doing and would be safe.

And now this. That’s just how much life really sucks.

Small consolation, but at least he died doing what he loved – even though, reports say, it hurt like hell.

R.I.P Steve.