Hospital diaries

I have been to a hospital plenty of times. Mostly as the patient. I firmly believe it is a good thing to be the patient most of the times. The attendant has a terrible experience. The visitors are mostly faker than silicon.
So there I was yesterday, in a hospital. To visit someone. Someone important.
Its unnerving how its not your fault but you still cant help feeling downtrodden guilty about whatever is happening. Unnecessary, but inevitable.
The guilt could have almost killed me and so would have the backache. So I sat down. It helped to keep me grounded.
But then I was wishing that I was the patient again this time. Because when you are the patient, you have plenty to think about otherwise. Or if not that, then you are in sufficient pain to take care of your brain for a while.
But that, my dear, was not to be. I was the visitor. So I was jobless. And while I sat there, all I could do was nothing. So the stupid wheels of my brain started churning and irritating me.
Thats something my brain does to me all the time. It begins to think all the prepostorous stuff at the wrong time. Yesterday being one of the wrong times. As I sat there, and I saw the feet of all the people passing, those colorful socks, those filthy toes, I could hear footsteps, even when there weren't any. Footsteps of the unseen, unbelieved. Footsteps of what would level me to something tantamount to nothing.
I could sense something approach me and flee.
I know what it was. It was immense fear. Fear of a calamity. Fear of something that would strike me and leave a mark, a bruise that would refuse to heal.
Oh! How I detest that!
I hate the idea of being so vulnerable, so easily affected.

I wish for a state where I can stay calm, unmoved and unaffected by everything..
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
  Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
  Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:

I sat there till till I could not stand it anymore. And I walked away. Without a word. I don't remember nothing of the last night. I can't even recall if I did really meet the patient or not. All that I remember is the footsteps. And another thing,

while walking out, I saw a board that read "Department of Psychiatry", for an unexplained reason, (or so I'd choose to assume) I smiled.

Anyways, 

See ya around.

Books.. and us.

Another one of the posts that I found typed in a notepad in a hidden folder..
Why women should not read books:

Hey.. I am going to be thrown in some village for work very soon. I shall not be able to update the blog regularly (which I dont anyways)

However, that is not the point.

The point I wish to make today is regarding love. *blush* :P

Women are very sensitive people. I know that, obviously.
Women take things pretty seriously. Even the ones that we shouldn't.
Thus, books are the biggest polluting devices in the history of mankind for our timid, tiny little hearts and minds.

Now, look at Desdemona. What was her fault?
She loved a little too much. She was extremely beautiful. She was honest, contrary to the opinion of her beloved, Othello. If I were Othello, I would have quit all politics and war and quests for whatever Othello was involved in and sat besides Desdemona and appreciate her love. That would have also eliminated all possibilities of her cheating on me anyways. That would have been simple logic and could have potentially avoided many deaths and a lot of bloodshed. However, that was not to be. Othello was a man. Devoid of all logic, like any other man.

Change genres, shall we? Lets switch to Charles Dickens instead of William Shakespeare.

Everyone has read / heard of David Copperfield.
If I consider all the lady characters of the story, I cant help but fret and fume. Following is a glimpse of their romantic lives: (in the order of my memory)
Dora Spenlow - David's first (child) wife. What did she derive of her love? Responsibilities she could not endure.
Clara Copperfield - A miserable death and endless mourning.
Mrs. Trotwood - I dont even remember her well. But I am certain of her depressing life by dint of her depressing character and ways
Rosa Dartle - Wait! Did she even have a life other than being a helping hand at the Steerforth's?
Agnes Wickfield - A depressing young lady who gets kissed by the guy who calls her "Sister of my boyhood". Considering that was the same guy who she silently loved throughout her life, it is but natural for any reader to get disgusted by the entire idea of love.
Clara Peggotty - The kind, loving nanny of David who marries Barkis for love. All happiness she ever got in her life was to hear from him "Barkis is willing" on his deathbed. Gross - if you ask me.
And of course Emily - "Untill he brings me back a lady" - Dear Emily could not accept the fact that Steerforth did not love her like a lady but as an object of usage.

There can be millions of examples
Like Jo in Little Women, Mercedes in The Count of Monte Cristo, or anyone else in saoe story ideas. Pick any lady from any play of Shakespeare, or of Oscar Wilde. I am certain no one would want that life.

Unless, of course, if one would want to pick some romantic novel, Eric Seigal or Mills and Boons. However, that is an inhuman form of setting expectations. You read those. You believe your knight in shining armour shall rescue you everytime you are in distress. However, most times the very knight is the source of or a mere spectator to all distress.

What is then, the point of it all?

Why? Would it not be convenient for women (and at most times, men too) if we just did not read books?

See ya around.

Confidence!

Been a long time, eh?

Can't help. I haven't the energies to collate my thoughts anymore. Have a lot to do. A lot to see. A lot to visualise and adapt myself to.
I have been caught up in a funny set of scenarios. I use the word funny very loosely perhaps. Whenever I can't find a certain term to signify the enormity of anything, whenever I can't find any term to depict the truth of anything, I use "funny".
There was a time when I had a plan. I had arranged the series of events in my mind. Expecting things to screw up. Expecting things to go wrong and fuck my mind (excuse the language, bitch!). I knew I will sail through. I will face each wrath of nature with strength and beat it.
i felt i could be kinda confident that I can make it.
However, life had another plans.
There i was, fighting my miniature battles, when little did i realize, a mammoth war was being cooked up. without my knowledge. Like a tornado quietly walking up and reducing an entire palace to dust.
oh yeah, palace it was.
Confidence can drive you to lethal limits. Belief and truth are two ends that can never meet. Learnt it the hard way.
And i learnt it pretty recently.
Remember the plan that i was talking about. It was ruined. Not that things i planned did not screw up. They did. Pretty bad.
But that screw up seemed petty considering the other tornado like screw up.
Nonsensical invalids effect my life so much at times, its not even funny.

Each time I decide to give up. Hopes and confidence play the spoiler. They enhance my strength and then reduce me to dust.
Hate this idea of confidence. hate it to the core. It makes me believe things that can never happen. It makes me trust people. It makes me happy. It makes me smile. There are plenty of reasons to hate it. But the idiot that I am.. I cling to it like a parasite. Ah! when shall I learn?

Anyways, see ya around.