I wish...
Like any journey, life also came with Emergency Exits complete with parachutes or lifejackets, more so becasue its everything
That peoples thoughts were audible and words muted, so that the whole exersice of speech wasnt such a wasted effort
That happiness was an investment one could make, by postponing too much of it at present so that it could be encashed when we hit rock bottom
That this whole notion of someone up there wasnt such a big question mark, we ought to know either way, life is fucked up with too many unknowns as it is
That it wasnt down that the birds fell when they died because something so beautiful turns into carcass, wish it just got sucked into the orbit and didnt remind us how two faced we were
That three leaved cloves, eyelashes and shooting stars were just wishes that by some magic came true, there is so much to wish and so little granted anyway
That pain was controllable, that it went to a point and stopped like everything else in life does
That I am granted a day where I am granted things before making a wish..
Wednesday, October 14
Thursday, September 10
I read an interesting article today, which said that most heart attacks world over are caused to people due to suffering idiots! It’s true, as per the article – if you have a particularly distressing conversation or confrontation with an idiot who screws up, chances are, you would be increasing your heart risk. The study, conducted by the medical college at University of Colorado (citation needed, the article was in print, so very sorry, don’t know the source) says that 83% of their study sample of 1500 people suffered from strokes within 48 hours of having a lousy experience with a person with less mental capacity from work/social circles etc. I don’t quite know what to make out of this news. I am often told that I have very little tolerance for people who aren’t my kind or those who share a point of view different from mine. I say bullshit. In what broader perspectives should I endure idiots..picture this:
A call to the Vodafone call centre after by phone was barred for the umpteenth time:
Me, sounding thoroughly harassed “Hello, my outgoing has been barred again, I need it corrected immediately. I have to make an urgent call”
The call centre executive “We are very sorry for the inconvenience ma’am, for security reasons, can you give us your number and name”
Me, irritated “Since you have made me dial my number some 10 times before reaching you through that stupid IVR, cant you figure that out?”
She, again in the irritatingly soft tone “Still ma’am, for security reasons you have to give your number again”
Pissed now “Fine 9*********, *****”
She “And now, can you tell us your mothers maiden name ma’am, for security reasons?”
Counting to 3, I reply “*****”
“And your rental postpaid plan ma’am?”
Me “Look, are you going to come to the point?”
She: “Last question ma’am”
Me: “So-so rental scheme”
She “Thank you for the details ma’am. Ma’am, we are very sorry for the inconvenience faced by you ma’am. For the solution to the problem, we suggest you visit the nearest Care Centre and they will be able to assist you”
Me, thoroughly confused now “Wait, so you are telling me you won’t be doing a thing about this problem”
She “Ma’am, to find the solution, you will have to visit the nearest care centre”
Me, totally losing it now “So, why did you ask me all those stupid questions?”
She: “Ma’am, that is for security reasons”
Me: “What kind of security, you didn’t tell me anything?”
She, confused I think, pausing “Ma’am, we have to confirm the identity for security..”
I hung up…
A call to the Vodafone call centre after by phone was barred for the umpteenth time:
Me, sounding thoroughly harassed “Hello, my outgoing has been barred again, I need it corrected immediately. I have to make an urgent call”
The call centre executive “We are very sorry for the inconvenience ma’am, for security reasons, can you give us your number and name”
Me, irritated “Since you have made me dial my number some 10 times before reaching you through that stupid IVR, cant you figure that out?”
She, again in the irritatingly soft tone “Still ma’am, for security reasons you have to give your number again”
Pissed now “Fine 9*********, *****”
She “And now, can you tell us your mothers maiden name ma’am, for security reasons?”
Counting to 3, I reply “*****”
“And your rental postpaid plan ma’am?”
Me “Look, are you going to come to the point?”
She: “Last question ma’am”
Me: “So-so rental scheme”
She “Thank you for the details ma’am. Ma’am, we are very sorry for the inconvenience faced by you ma’am. For the solution to the problem, we suggest you visit the nearest Care Centre and they will be able to assist you”
Me, thoroughly confused now “Wait, so you are telling me you won’t be doing a thing about this problem”
She “Ma’am, to find the solution, you will have to visit the nearest care centre”
Me, totally losing it now “So, why did you ask me all those stupid questions?”
She: “Ma’am, that is for security reasons”
Me: “What kind of security, you didn’t tell me anything?”
She, confused I think, pausing “Ma’am, we have to confirm the identity for security..”
I hung up…
Tuesday, August 11
Homer discovered!
I know Greek mythology is colossaly famous but no one really knows why. I mean, we have heard the words Iliad, Odyssey, Ulyssus, Homer being thrown around but I didnt really know who or what the hell these were till sometime back.
I watched the movie Troy recently (this is quite shocking but frankly it is the truth, I am that outdated) and I was very intrigued by the characters of Hector, Achilles and Breseis. Obsessed as I am with details, I began reading extensively through the trivia and pretty soon was compelled to start on a full translation of Homer's Iliad (Illius in Greek) and have started now on Odyssey. To say that thay are compelling reads is quite an understatement. They are poignantly breathtaking. And to think that it is volumes of poetic prose. God is really in the details, and if so that is the word for these amazing volumes, every character, every nuance, every emotion has been given its due space in the pages. I've been told that people do their doctoral thesis on parts of Hum 1 and Hum 2. Phew!
My personal favorite characters: Ulyssus and Hector. Yeah yeah, its not Achilles - There is some pattern to the people I like, for instance in Mahabharata my favorite characters are not the usual heroes but Karna. Its something like that. There is something heroic about standing by your convictions and fighting to death for them even if they are not the convictions the world lives by. As also, there is this unconditional respect I have for the mad genius kind of characters. So, till I discover another splendid read, its Homer all the way...
I know Greek mythology is colossaly famous but no one really knows why. I mean, we have heard the words Iliad, Odyssey, Ulyssus, Homer being thrown around but I didnt really know who or what the hell these were till sometime back.
I watched the movie Troy recently (this is quite shocking but frankly it is the truth, I am that outdated) and I was very intrigued by the characters of Hector, Achilles and Breseis. Obsessed as I am with details, I began reading extensively through the trivia and pretty soon was compelled to start on a full translation of Homer's Iliad (Illius in Greek) and have started now on Odyssey. To say that thay are compelling reads is quite an understatement. They are poignantly breathtaking. And to think that it is volumes of poetic prose. God is really in the details, and if so that is the word for these amazing volumes, every character, every nuance, every emotion has been given its due space in the pages. I've been told that people do their doctoral thesis on parts of Hum 1 and Hum 2. Phew!
My personal favorite characters: Ulyssus and Hector. Yeah yeah, its not Achilles - There is some pattern to the people I like, for instance in Mahabharata my favorite characters are not the usual heroes but Karna. Its something like that. There is something heroic about standing by your convictions and fighting to death for them even if they are not the convictions the world lives by. As also, there is this unconditional respect I have for the mad genius kind of characters. So, till I discover another splendid read, its Homer all the way...
Thursday, July 16
This blog is for all those friends of mine who touched my life, unknown to them and have a lot to do with what I am today... P.S: Even though I seldom say it (maybe never, in some cases) I love you guys..
I'd like to tell you about this girl who is a complete mess. She thinks she hates the world and how badly it sucks, but when she misses it she realizes it - she loves it. She thinks to be emotional is to be vulnerable and so hates herself for it. She seldom calls people, is a pathological anti social. To her bliss is her bed, coffee and a novel. Tell her she has to slog her butt off and she wont blink an eyelid, she will revel it. But tell her she has to meet a dozen people over the weekend and it is her worst nightmare come true. She doesnt remember birthdays, anniversary's, even now many nieces and nephews she has! But ask her to rattle off history or trivia she loves, and she can go on for hours. She frets over her weight, her height, her unfeminity, and quickly forgets she has to do something about it. Memories are her fetish. But she wont tell you how often she remembers you. She wont tell you she misses those days, when things were uncomplicated, when life was just beginning and we werent running, running like there is no tomorrow. She likes the run, but she loved that stillness too. Too fiery, too tart, too closed to let her guard down, misandrist sometimes, feminist sometimes..indivisualist always..confused mostly..wants a son like Calvin, commitment phobic, wants to adopt a child. Agnost..atheist..theist..self involved, procrastrinator....shopaholic..bundle of extremes..ultimate dream to publish a novel..
But above all, what these 25 years have made her realize is that she loves it when she makes a difference,she loves her friends, she cries when they cry, she cries when they are happy, is fiercely protective of them, will do anything for them, and they mean they world to her.. Yours truly.. Love you guys
I'd like to tell you about this girl who is a complete mess. She thinks she hates the world and how badly it sucks, but when she misses it she realizes it - she loves it. She thinks to be emotional is to be vulnerable and so hates herself for it. She seldom calls people, is a pathological anti social. To her bliss is her bed, coffee and a novel. Tell her she has to slog her butt off and she wont blink an eyelid, she will revel it. But tell her she has to meet a dozen people over the weekend and it is her worst nightmare come true. She doesnt remember birthdays, anniversary's, even now many nieces and nephews she has! But ask her to rattle off history or trivia she loves, and she can go on for hours. She frets over her weight, her height, her unfeminity, and quickly forgets she has to do something about it. Memories are her fetish. But she wont tell you how often she remembers you. She wont tell you she misses those days, when things were uncomplicated, when life was just beginning and we werent running, running like there is no tomorrow. She likes the run, but she loved that stillness too. Too fiery, too tart, too closed to let her guard down, misandrist sometimes, feminist sometimes..indivisualist always..confused mostly..wants a son like Calvin, commitment phobic, wants to adopt a child. Agnost..atheist..theist..self involved, procrastrinator....shopaholic..bundle of extremes..ultimate dream to publish a novel..
But above all, what these 25 years have made her realize is that she loves it when she makes a difference,she loves her friends, she cries when they cry, she cries when they are happy, is fiercely protective of them, will do anything for them, and they mean they world to her.. Yours truly.. Love you guys
Thursday, March 5
I know 2 years isn’t long enough to count for an era, heck it isn’t even an eon. But if life is summed up in memories, in feelings, in what you make of them, what you learn and what you feel, how much you and things in your life change; then I am coming to the end of one. I have a habit of compartmentalizing time, of seeing how I moved from one to another. In moments somber, I sit down and suddenly I am this independent observer who is going through my life as if it were compartments on a train and looking for how things graduated, how they moved and why they have come to be the way they are today, and there is always something I chance upon, something that helps make more sense out of life than the mindless continuum it seems otherwise. For instance, I look back to the first day in college, about how unsure I was, yet how keenly awake, with every sense in anticipation of the 2 years to come. I didn’t know that it was going to be like this, but what I know already, foregone, was that it was going to be worthwhile, it was going to be important, that it would change a lot. I can say with conviction that I am stronger; I’ve seen one of the lowest points in my life. If you’ve seen Gone with the wind, which happens to be one of my all time favorite films and novels because it is about how heroic life is, then you’ll remember the scene where Grandma Tartleton tells Scarlett O’Hara that if you think you’ve seen the worst in life, you aren’t really afraid of anything. I am not going to dramatize and say that that’s how I feel, I don’t even know what the worst is, but yes, I am less afraid now.
People are great teachers, every one of them, the whole of humanity. If you think that way then you’ll know how humbling it is to know just how much there is to learn. If you observe people closely, you’ll know it’s their faces and eyes that give them away. They are like lanterns hung on an otherwise dark alley, revealing to you one more shade of the complexity that goes into making personalities. Seeing so many in just this span can tell you a lot about people, like the fact that universally what moves people is to know that what they do makes a goddamn difference, somewhere. Every one of the 300 people who joined with me as the class of ‘0709. That’s how most left jobs, hopes of a better career, postponed today’s dreams and joys, thinking some interest will somehow add up and the whole will be given back to them, somehow making them richer in experience. It was money, but that was not all. There was something more to it, something that words cannot capture, I saw it all the time, in every class assignment people burned midnight oil for, in the way they went after everything that required them to compete, from sports to B Plans to jobs. It was what kept me going in all I did here. Has the 2 years left us richer, in some way? A cynic will tell you that in a time when the whole world is impoverished and we are in crisis, me talking of riches is not just laughable, to some, I may even be cruel. But each one of us can look into our heart and know that there were some moments that made all of it worthwhile. That’s what I can tell about the compartments I went through. Even though the journey at times felt like hell, some of them just made all of it worth it.
PS: I’d like to dedicate this column to a Friend, a mentor I learned so much from that I’d name this compartment after that person. If you ever read this, you’ll know this one was for you.
People are great teachers, every one of them, the whole of humanity. If you think that way then you’ll know how humbling it is to know just how much there is to learn. If you observe people closely, you’ll know it’s their faces and eyes that give them away. They are like lanterns hung on an otherwise dark alley, revealing to you one more shade of the complexity that goes into making personalities. Seeing so many in just this span can tell you a lot about people, like the fact that universally what moves people is to know that what they do makes a goddamn difference, somewhere. Every one of the 300 people who joined with me as the class of ‘0709. That’s how most left jobs, hopes of a better career, postponed today’s dreams and joys, thinking some interest will somehow add up and the whole will be given back to them, somehow making them richer in experience. It was money, but that was not all. There was something more to it, something that words cannot capture, I saw it all the time, in every class assignment people burned midnight oil for, in the way they went after everything that required them to compete, from sports to B Plans to jobs. It was what kept me going in all I did here. Has the 2 years left us richer, in some way? A cynic will tell you that in a time when the whole world is impoverished and we are in crisis, me talking of riches is not just laughable, to some, I may even be cruel. But each one of us can look into our heart and know that there were some moments that made all of it worthwhile. That’s what I can tell about the compartments I went through. Even though the journey at times felt like hell, some of them just made all of it worth it.
PS: I’d like to dedicate this column to a Friend, a mentor I learned so much from that I’d name this compartment after that person. If you ever read this, you’ll know this one was for you.
Tuesday, November 4
Year 1989: Even though my mum claims I’ve been taken to the beach a gazillion times before this, somehow this incident is stuck in my head as the first one. I was jumping up and down like an excited pony. Hell, with that fountain like way my hair was tied (I shook it for that extra fountainy effect :P) and those peddle pushers (they were in vogue back then) that I wore I was the excited pony. Mum shooed me away because I wouldn’t let her get ready. I wandered around my aunt’s room still prancing and what it this I see. There lying perched on her bed were the fanciest things I’d ever laid my eyes on. I’d seen moushi wear these and I walked in and perched them on my nose. From the lower half I could see nothing and from the upper half the world was a jaundiced yellow. (Found out later that they were goggles). And then they came right off. I put them back on and held them there before the mirror. My moushi walked in and pinched my cheeks. Didn’t mua baby look cute? I held them there bravely. That was pretty cool. I look like one of those women that my ajji watched in Chitrahaar. And I held them through the whole trip to the beach and back. All the pictures show me holding it up even though my hands hurt and everyone tried to coax me into taking them off.
Year 1991: My style quotient was still dominated by what moushi brought and here I was wearing some frock thingy, only with one puffed sleeve and well the other no sleeve. There were even red shoes to match and a red purse that had Winnie the pooh and Peanuts on alternate sides (PS: That was the vacation I got introduced to Roald Dahl after 3 years of reading Enid Blyton and Winnie the pooh, but Winnie the pooh was still my favorite). I stood before the mirror and was making a face at myself. I had a front tooth missing and there was one growing back, albeit painfully. “Hey there, move away, I want to look to”. My bro stood behind me, hands on hips and wanting to do everything I did. I turned back without changing the face I was making in the mirror. “Copycat”. His face clouded “I’m not a copycat”. His whine brought out that mean instinct in me. “Yes you are. Copycat, copycat, copycat” He bolted “Mommmmmmmmm”.
Year 1994: “I hate you you donkey” I was pulling my brothers hair in all my flourish. I was as tall as him then (wish I would say now too, but I am NOT 6’ 1” and definitely DO NOT weigh 168 pounds) and weighed as much. He pushed me away, always the stronger one, the dork.
“Go play with the other girls for once. Do you see guddu or pillu(Ok I wont tell anyone who was called this, she is so gonna kill me) play with us?”
“They are boring, they are 11 and play house house!”
“I think its ok”
“Yes you do. You play it with them sometimes, so you go”. The other guys in the colony roared with laughter. “You play house house with your sisters??” (I know why my brother still thinks I was an ass). “Besides” I added smiling “I can bet you are afraid all your kites will be gone if I join you because I’m gonna cut your kites”.
“Ha, you are the scared hen I’m not” he was defiant.
“Ok, I’ll join Viju’s party, you and Sachu” He gave in, “Ok” “Yay!”
“But first change idiot, we are climbing on Sachu’s roof, you’ll tear that thing you are wearing”.
I looked down and made a face. It was one of those long gown like dresses which was made of velvet cloth (kinda felt like those mosses that grew on the old house by the corner that I was punished for bringing home) and with huge sleeves. Mom had even matched them with bobbins to go (I didn’t have ear piercings, so they were those press hoop things). It was my birthday dress from moushi. I quickly changed into the usual, tapering jeans and oversized t shirt. And yes, I lost those hoops that day.
Year 1998: “Yippee to the girls outing” M said that with that fake giggle I tried to mimic in front of the mirror so many times. How does she do it. We were sitting at one Walts store with our sundaes and all, after our end terms. “Yeah yippee, to girls and er.. D” they were looking at me. M moaned “What happened to our dress code. You were supposed to wear a skirt and those jackets we brought and you are also wearing sneakers!” I looked down. So I wore jeans, and my T shirt was well – I had stolen in from my brother because it was black and was this University of California Varsity T Shirt. Ok so it was a Little oversized. And how on earth are you supposed to match those girly pointy shoes and lace socks with my outfit. Plus when you are 5’3 and weigh 70 pounds, everything is oversized. “Can we leave my clothes alone, my mum was not back from office when you called, I cant dress up like you guys without assistance.” (They still tease me mercilessly for it, plus my sad mushroom cut – who the hell named it that).
Year 2000: I guess you find your groove eventually. I was comfortable with the fact that I and style were not to be said in the same breath. Moushi still tried to coax me into wearing the stuff she brought and I stoutly refused, forcing her to give it away to my other second cousins who ate it out of her hands. I mean it was GAP and stuff, who wouldn’t. And the only place the cosmetic mine she brought ended up was our local ukkirda (that’s Marathi for thrash). I still wore jeans and skirts. The world had moved on to fancier salwaar kameez, those airline dresses were still in vogue and perming hair was still in. Mine were of an unmentionable length. Plus I wore no contacts. So black rimmed glasses it was.
Year 2002: Ah – the year. Yes yes, I and moushi had found the middle turf. I gave in. A tad bit. So did she, the darling(she didn’t get clothes that were frightfully girly). The day was the 10th of September and I had for the first time taken 3 hours to dress up. G will vouch for that. She was the one who did the makeover. She and A and M and pretty much all my s-maties (I still can’t believe they stuck to that name, we were 14 and very stupid when we had come up with that). “Please tell your aunt to get this one for me too”. I was really tired “M, for the last time this is not from New York or New Jersey or even London for that matter. This is my sis’s design dumbo. She gifted it to me.” M nodded, “Ok ok, and what are you gonna tell that b**** A when she asks you what this thing is”. I moaned “Yes, yes, it is a zardosi lakhnavi from Delhi and is a hand made one. Now will you please tie my hair, its very hot”. M looked at me in indignation “What! And ruin all the curls. Not on your life”. My middle turf came at a price, extreme discomfiture. Only, this time I kept it.
Year 1991: My style quotient was still dominated by what moushi brought and here I was wearing some frock thingy, only with one puffed sleeve and well the other no sleeve. There were even red shoes to match and a red purse that had Winnie the pooh and Peanuts on alternate sides (PS: That was the vacation I got introduced to Roald Dahl after 3 years of reading Enid Blyton and Winnie the pooh, but Winnie the pooh was still my favorite). I stood before the mirror and was making a face at myself. I had a front tooth missing and there was one growing back, albeit painfully. “Hey there, move away, I want to look to”. My bro stood behind me, hands on hips and wanting to do everything I did. I turned back without changing the face I was making in the mirror. “Copycat”. His face clouded “I’m not a copycat”. His whine brought out that mean instinct in me. “Yes you are. Copycat, copycat, copycat” He bolted “Mommmmmmmmm”.
Year 1994: “I hate you you donkey” I was pulling my brothers hair in all my flourish. I was as tall as him then (wish I would say now too, but I am NOT 6’ 1” and definitely DO NOT weigh 168 pounds) and weighed as much. He pushed me away, always the stronger one, the dork.
“Go play with the other girls for once. Do you see guddu or pillu(Ok I wont tell anyone who was called this, she is so gonna kill me) play with us?”
“They are boring, they are 11 and play house house!”
“I think its ok”
“Yes you do. You play it with them sometimes, so you go”. The other guys in the colony roared with laughter. “You play house house with your sisters??” (I know why my brother still thinks I was an ass). “Besides” I added smiling “I can bet you are afraid all your kites will be gone if I join you because I’m gonna cut your kites”.
“Ha, you are the scared hen I’m not” he was defiant.
“Ok, I’ll join Viju’s party, you and Sachu” He gave in, “Ok” “Yay!”
“But first change idiot, we are climbing on Sachu’s roof, you’ll tear that thing you are wearing”.
I looked down and made a face. It was one of those long gown like dresses which was made of velvet cloth (kinda felt like those mosses that grew on the old house by the corner that I was punished for bringing home) and with huge sleeves. Mom had even matched them with bobbins to go (I didn’t have ear piercings, so they were those press hoop things). It was my birthday dress from moushi. I quickly changed into the usual, tapering jeans and oversized t shirt. And yes, I lost those hoops that day.
Year 1998: “Yippee to the girls outing” M said that with that fake giggle I tried to mimic in front of the mirror so many times. How does she do it. We were sitting at one Walts store with our sundaes and all, after our end terms. “Yeah yippee, to girls and er.. D” they were looking at me. M moaned “What happened to our dress code. You were supposed to wear a skirt and those jackets we brought and you are also wearing sneakers!” I looked down. So I wore jeans, and my T shirt was well – I had stolen in from my brother because it was black and was this University of California Varsity T Shirt. Ok so it was a Little oversized. And how on earth are you supposed to match those girly pointy shoes and lace socks with my outfit. Plus when you are 5’3 and weigh 70 pounds, everything is oversized. “Can we leave my clothes alone, my mum was not back from office when you called, I cant dress up like you guys without assistance.” (They still tease me mercilessly for it, plus my sad mushroom cut – who the hell named it that).
Year 2000: I guess you find your groove eventually. I was comfortable with the fact that I and style were not to be said in the same breath. Moushi still tried to coax me into wearing the stuff she brought and I stoutly refused, forcing her to give it away to my other second cousins who ate it out of her hands. I mean it was GAP and stuff, who wouldn’t. And the only place the cosmetic mine she brought ended up was our local ukkirda (that’s Marathi for thrash). I still wore jeans and skirts. The world had moved on to fancier salwaar kameez, those airline dresses were still in vogue and perming hair was still in. Mine were of an unmentionable length. Plus I wore no contacts. So black rimmed glasses it was.
Year 2002: Ah – the year. Yes yes, I and moushi had found the middle turf. I gave in. A tad bit. So did she, the darling(she didn’t get clothes that were frightfully girly). The day was the 10th of September and I had for the first time taken 3 hours to dress up. G will vouch for that. She was the one who did the makeover. She and A and M and pretty much all my s-maties (I still can’t believe they stuck to that name, we were 14 and very stupid when we had come up with that). “Please tell your aunt to get this one for me too”. I was really tired “M, for the last time this is not from New York or New Jersey or even London for that matter. This is my sis’s design dumbo. She gifted it to me.” M nodded, “Ok ok, and what are you gonna tell that b**** A when she asks you what this thing is”. I moaned “Yes, yes, it is a zardosi lakhnavi from Delhi and is a hand made one. Now will you please tie my hair, its very hot”. M looked at me in indignation “What! And ruin all the curls. Not on your life”. My middle turf came at a price, extreme discomfiture. Only, this time I kept it.
Sunday, October 5
Not a week goes by without knowing that some financial institution has called quits and a few hundred jobs are wiped out like that.Woosh! One moment its a billion dollar standing, the next moment its dust, like some fake think that stood eaten by termites ages ago before someone decided to blow air and see the whole thing collapse like wood flake.
Not a day goes by when I, thanks to this awesome "responsibility" I've taken up, hear the line "Lets talk placements". Thats still decent. It gets worse. "What do you forsee for the economy and how it will affect the jobs scenario?". Wow! Heavy stuff dude. I'm thinking, I like Economics (though I admit that only with discretion for the fear that the "geek" label I worked so hard to rid myself of may be back again), but hell, thats a question which might just stump Henry Paulson and Ben Bernanke even if they apply their whiz brains together. Thats the job of some soothsayer or prophet. I'm just a two bit noneity who doesnt even count. I understand insecurity. Jeez, I'm scared too (thats just a same pinch thing by the way, not with emphasis on I - I am no superwoman by any stretch of my imagination, hell I chicken out as easily as the next guy). But this is too much. Its like this typical trait all losers have, where they let the fear get the better of them and think if they ask a question repeatedly, answers will drop into their laps like miracles. Oh and no miracles drop like that. That was a speech figure. Which goes to say, neither do anwsers. So moral of the story, find your own answers, dont bug others. And for God's sake, get a grip!!!
Not a day goes by when I, thanks to this awesome "responsibility" I've taken up, hear the line "Lets talk placements". Thats still decent. It gets worse. "What do you forsee for the economy and how it will affect the jobs scenario?". Wow! Heavy stuff dude. I'm thinking, I like Economics (though I admit that only with discretion for the fear that the "geek" label I worked so hard to rid myself of may be back again), but hell, thats a question which might just stump Henry Paulson and Ben Bernanke even if they apply their whiz brains together. Thats the job of some soothsayer or prophet. I'm just a two bit noneity who doesnt even count. I understand insecurity. Jeez, I'm scared too (thats just a same pinch thing by the way, not with emphasis on I - I am no superwoman by any stretch of my imagination, hell I chicken out as easily as the next guy). But this is too much. Its like this typical trait all losers have, where they let the fear get the better of them and think if they ask a question repeatedly, answers will drop into their laps like miracles. Oh and no miracles drop like that. That was a speech figure. Which goes to say, neither do anwsers. So moral of the story, find your own answers, dont bug others. And for God's sake, get a grip!!!
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