Failed resolutions and other such things.

So I’ve been failing steadily on all of my New Year Resolutions. I’m not exercising much. I’m not eating better. All my attempts at being productive were abandoned when the part time thing worked out. Put on hold, rather. Which means I’ve spent every weekend in the last two months lying around because I’ll be doing shit anyway from April. And then from May. And now it’s May and I’m stretching the full time once again, for a month (I think).

But this can no longer be a reason to not do things. And so, this is the last weekend I spend reading two books in a row. I’ll go back to my one book a month ration now. Really.

Also, in general, in life, don’t read a book about the holocaust right after reading a tragic love story involving a quadriplegic. It’s just not a good plan.

Love always,

PS. The tone of this post came out all wrong. I’m actually in quite a nice mood today. Really. In spite of having just finished a book about the holocaust.

Oh well. I guess it forces some solemnity into your voice anyway.


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.

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