Some people just seem to be begging, "Get mad at me! Get mad at me!" and I cannot really give in to such childish demands so I annoy them by not getting mad at them. Then they get mad at me for not getting mad at them. Humans never made sense to me.
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The loss of love can alter people in ways that they alone are aware of. Its like a little secret stowed away in a warm place inside their heart. Such things are truly personal. These are the only things that deserve attention and attachment at the end of the day. You can let everything else go.
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I like being the slightly crazy woman who has bouts of sanity every now and then. Life is fun for me. I sit at my window and think profound things and sometimes, I just look at the sky and draw shapes with the clouds or I look down at the stray dogs milling on the street and ask them what they had for lunch. The answer is always the same, 'Garbage'. Sometimes I make sense and sometimes I don't. Actually most of the times, I don't. What's the point in making sense all the time? This compulsive and continuous need to make sense somehow doesn't make sense to me.
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So I went to the mutton market with HM last Sunday and it was dirty and stinky as usual and as I was picking my way through an assortment of innards, I saw this little white lamb just sitting there in a corner, cowering in fear, the smell of death all around. And then I cried and it was all very embarrassing as I weaved my way out, sniffling and wiping my face with my sleeves. I don't really eat mutton unless I'm force fed by HM so I have an affinity for goats, I guess. They don't qualify as 'food' for me. I then wondered if I'd feel the same way for a baby chick. I love eating chicken by the way. Chicken is 'food' for me and that's why I'm okay with killing chickens but I can't bear to see a lamb being slaughtered. How convenient. I then felt like a hypocrite and it wasn't a very good feeling. Me no likey.
____________________________
The loss of love can alter people in ways that they alone are aware of. Its like a little secret stowed away in a warm place inside their heart. Such things are truly personal. These are the only things that deserve attention and attachment at the end of the day. You can let everything else go.
____________________________
I like being the slightly crazy woman who has bouts of sanity every now and then. Life is fun for me. I sit at my window and think profound things and sometimes, I just look at the sky and draw shapes with the clouds or I look down at the stray dogs milling on the street and ask them what they had for lunch. The answer is always the same, 'Garbage'. Sometimes I make sense and sometimes I don't. Actually most of the times, I don't. What's the point in making sense all the time? This compulsive and continuous need to make sense somehow doesn't make sense to me.
____________________________
So I went to the mutton market with HM last Sunday and it was dirty and stinky as usual and as I was picking my way through an assortment of innards, I saw this little white lamb just sitting there in a corner, cowering in fear, the smell of death all around. And then I cried and it was all very embarrassing as I weaved my way out, sniffling and wiping my face with my sleeves. I don't really eat mutton unless I'm force fed by HM so I have an affinity for goats, I guess. They don't qualify as 'food' for me. I then wondered if I'd feel the same way for a baby chick. I love eating chicken by the way. Chicken is 'food' for me and that's why I'm okay with killing chickens but I can't bear to see a lamb being slaughtered. How convenient. I then felt like a hypocrite and it wasn't a very good feeling. Me no likey.
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