Whose Life Is It Anyway

There's people who make things happen and there's people things happen to. I'm pretty sure I belong in that second category. Partly cos it seems to be what the Universe has in mind for me and partly cos I've always been a little lacking in the conviction department. You know..the type that reckons they're worth something good but aren't sure enough to go ahead and find out. And so I've drifted through the last twenty years on the fruits of other people's faith in me and a lot of luck. 

You'd think, then, that I must be used to things happening by themselves by now. But turns out no amount of prior practice will do when everything makes up its mind without informing you and goes ahead and just becomes. Two days ago I was feeling useless and wondering who'd want to employ me. But thanks to the awesomeness of social networking sites and a very resourceful friend called Frank, I've been thinking about employing people in a few months time. That's far away of course, but what's real right now is an official id I'm using that has an order for a pair of Shoerikens all the way from Delhi. Woooooooo! (That's what my shoes are called now, fyi, Shoerikens. And if you want a pair mail your order to shoeriken@gmail.com. I think everyone reading this is a little lukkha and highly unlikely to cough up any money for a pair of shoes, but worth a shot isn't it?) 
And then of course other stuff happens that you think you're giving yourself time to sort out first. You see what I mean now. Too many things hitting me randomly in two and a half days. If Life is like an airplane journey, mine feels like it just got hijacked by the Madagascar penguins. And I'm stuck in the back watching it head to wherever with no idea what the plan is. Feels awesome to not have a detailed plan.
These things happen. I am a stone full of hurtling again but this time, I'm awake enough to be liking it. Woooooooo!

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

2 thoughts on “Whose Life Is It Anyway”

  1. oh yes, it is, i wil post the id again so everyone sees it. when i wrote the post the gmail one ws official..I am a stone full of hurtling: nothing much..its a reference to an old post of mine i don't think anyone remembers..

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