"To the edge of the earth,
It's a brave new world."

This is War
- Thirty Seconds to Mars

It has been raining a lot in the past few days. Not that I have anything against it - I mean, it's true that I did wrap myself with a jacket yesterday and sink into some sort of odd nostalgia while sipping a cup of Earl Grey, but that doesn't make me hate the rain.

No, I don't hate the rain.

It just makes me think.

A lot.

Well, an incident interrupted the peaceful, sleepy lull.

There were eight cockroaches in the bathroom, and around five more outside. I basically sank into a moment of wtf and ran like the freaking wind. Normally I wasn't afraid of cockroaches - hell, I butchered without any mercy - but thirteen? Way out of my league. And these little buggers knew how to fly. I had to enlist the help of my maid and my dad. Together, we wiped those bastards out - and the house was at peace once again. That was the first time I saw a genuine urban cockroach fest going on. Incredible, wouldn't you agree?

I sat at my desk today, finishing a letter to be sent out to a far-away friend. I glanced through the contents off-handedly, not bothering to change anything. If I wasn't mistaken, someone had rummaged through my books on Friday and had seen the contents of the half-finished letter. I hadn't made the hypothesis on blind assumption. There were actually obvious signs from the person that screamed, "Hey, I read your letter and I'm pissed at you!" in my face. The discontent was practically radiating off her figure.

The worst thing was, I didn't even feel bad. All I felt was some distant anger that stirred through me, but it gone by the end of the day. I had to remind myself that graduation was in a few weeks time, and parting with unhappy terms wouldn't make life any more interesting than it currently was. I did know, however, that what she did was really rude. I was not the one to be blamed. For one, I would never blame myself for having an opinion, for another, I actually kept the letter under my desk - not throw it around for the whole world to see.

And when your ex wants you back, it means a whole lot of impending drama tagging along. For a few days I could only facepalm. The few girls that hung around me were there to witness it all - the Out-Of-Character moments of Anne. It was the worst feeling ever - not being to shake things off due to the things you once did - due to how you smirked, and twisted.

He wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last.

A boyfriend worth the trouble, and one who found me worth the trouble at the same time? Never found that so far. It was always either the first or the latter. What a darn shame. My pride goes on.

Granted, I wasn't the type to put up with it too long. I despised the fact that deep down, there was a kind part that seemed to pity, and empathize. It was ridiculous in a sense that no matter how much I tried to deny it, it was there - and it existed. Unless, perhaps, it was just another facade to trick a useless fool. It didn't matter. I myself had no idea what the hell was going on, and the last thing I wanted to do was relapse in another pointless bout of mind-mashing. To me, the past three years had been enough. Any vestiges of those days were quietly hidden away. No point letting others know.

Another ridiculous thing would be on how humans seemed to dream. Not ambition-type dreams, but literal dreams.

Too many. There have been too many of dreams lately while I slept. Three years ago, I had bad ones almost everyday. I lived, though, and they got rarer when I was sixteen. It most likely had something to do with my attitude, thoughts and negative perceptions. But now? Now they've returned on a full-scale. Night after night. Surreality over surreality. It'd be nice if, y'know, dreams could have been a little more creative. It gets annoying watching horror BS every night. It'd be nice to be able to control my dreams, or work out just how to avoid the whole bizarre crap. A little search tells me that I apparently suck in handling my problems, big time. Right. As if I hadn't known that already. Screw this shit, I have a midnight snack to eat, and my stories aren't just going to magically write themselves.

Really, though, there's no limit to creativity - and imagination. On one hand, while I find this whole issue bitchy as can be, it just makes me want to revel in the blood a little more to see what goes on further than that.

Before this post either drives you up the wall or makes you wonder whether I'm still in the right mind, I should probably talk about something cheerful. The cheerful thing would be that there would be a one-week Deepavali break, and well, if that isn't good news, then basically nothing is. The feeling of sleeping late and waking up at noon with headaches appeals so, so much. Chocolates, snacks - bring in all the food. My stomach craves like a damn female.

Bring on the frickin' food so that the frickin' heartless writer in me can bitch on about more shit in life. That's how it goes. My fill of entertainment never ceases.

Till then, my jolly friends, enjoy the insanity of life.