I dig my dandy new userpic. It isn't me, but it'll do. So, on to the self-obsession. I present to you a meme. Here is:
The Field Guide to Me
- How can I tell if you are angry?
I start thinking about myself even more.
- How do you want me to behave when you are hurting emotionally? How is it best to comfort you?
Wheedle, flatter, pander and otherwise be an uninhibited mollycoddler. This is true reassurance. Who needs a hug anyway? (But expensive gifts are welcome too.)
- Are there things we should not discuss?
In the blogosphere: my job. In public (if you know about it): my writing. Anywhere: snakes, boring books, Culture Club. Also we should not discuss my failings, except in a romantic, doomed fashion, eg: 'Alas that the fatal curse of procrastination that has fallen upon you, Roswitha! We must now go on a quest to throw the curse in the cracks of Mount Workplace, and find a sexy elf, man and dwarf to walk beside you in an epic fashion. Or walk into a bar to drink rum. With you.'
- How should I treat you if you are physically ill?
If you are a doctor: not by telling me that panacea means four Crocin a day. If you're a friend: fly down from wherever you are to kneel by my bedside and tell me that you do, in fact, agree that Sachin Tendulkar is the best thing to happen to anyplace ever. Brownies for bringing Sachin Tendulkar along.
- What makes you happy, that's in my power to grant as a friend?
Blogs! Playful literary pow-wow! Gaspingly adulatory remarks about me. Eat drink and be merry, and whatever you do, please don't die on the morrow.
- How would you like us to recognize your birthday?
See above. Also instant noodles with cheese.
- Are there any standing categories of presents that would be inappropriate or unwelcome?
Snakes, boring books, Culture Club tapes. You catch the drift.
- Are there any kinds of presents you love?
Stories, I love stories. Unless they're boring stories.
- Are there times of the year that are difficult for you? Please explain if you are comfortable..
I'm quite comfortable with declaring that February is my annual month o' doom. No matter when horrible things happen to me around the year, the full impact of it comes crashing in on me only in February. This is invariable.
(Of course, one can't forget that April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire. Can't imagine what it must be like for someone with an allergy to lilac pollen.)
- Are there times of year that are happy for you?
Early June, rains in Mumbai. I wasn't there for the cloudburst this year, else I'm sure this would have changed. As it is, the monsoon brings me happy thoughts, poetic impulses, and the wonder of the people at my woozy hereur about slush season.
I tag you all to make this self-assessment, if you please.
Hey, here's an essay that attempts to answer a question that fazes me endlessly: What's The Secret To Enya's Success? Revel in the examination of Mr and Mrs Leavitt's genteel nightmare.
current musix: (ost) yuva - khuda hafiz.
why did this soundtrack not strike me down with its coolness before now?