Tinkle Twinkle

It's occasional, unexplainable and downright inevitable. Nope I'm not talking about the mountains of files/documents that turn up unannounced on your desk. God knows they turn up on a regular basis as it is. It, rather refers to the unavoidable mental block that afflicts every blogger from time to time, 'bloggers' block' I prefer to call it.

Bloggers' block is akin to creative constipation. You know you have to go but you can't. So your shit remains stuck inside instead of staying on your blog where it rightfully belongs and you feel constipated cause well you're full of shit and no one wants to be full of shit do they? So we find other avenues of getting the shit out: more work, friends, activities, sex, you get my drift. Or we just be stubborn fucks and sit and stew in front of the comp till we expel it all, almost always with the help of some laxatives.

Said laxatives ranging from the tried and tested 'talk about others' to the peculiar remedy idiosyncratic to the individual blogger. For yours truly, it happens to be that delightful thing called incoherency where the lack of need to write in proper prose or cohesive coherent topics does wonders for unclogging the work weary constipated system. Six day weeks, the sheer volume of work and staying back regularly past nine for the past 2.5 months is starting to take its toll.

And in the usual tradition of things when bloggers' block strike, you talk about others. Which unfortunately (or otherwise) happens to be my clients due to the fact that statistically speaking at least, a large portion of my life revolves around my work. Sometimes I don't know whether I should laugh, console or scold clients when they tell me the things they do. Take Mr A, vengeful and bitter, who wants to fight every single step of the way.

Mr A: She's been sleeping around ever since I was overseas, they even went out on my birthday! Can you believe it!

moi: Ok and how did you find out she was sleeping around?

Mr A: I have records of all her msn conversations with that guy. She told him, "You're really hot you know that?" What kind of married woman goes about saying that to other men when her husband is overseas?!

Moi: So you believe she slept around because she told a guy he's really hot?

Mr A: Yes!

Moi:.... That's hardly very conclusive..

Mr A: *Interjects while staring at my unadorned ring finger* You married?

Moi: No...

Mr A: Ah see that's where I must explain to you, you might not understand otherwise since you're not married. You don't go round telling a member of the opposite sex you're hot when you're married! It's almost sexual!

Moi:....

Which is where I did all three and had to go through the usual "must be pragmatic, cannot be so acrimonious but yet of course she wasn't very reasonable" crap. For the record, Mr A did sufficiently justify his otherwise ludicrous position later when he recounted to me in vivid detail just what his wife said she would do to Mr X, stuff that didn't involve giving a piece of her mind to said Mr X but rather her whole body and in particular various naughty bits in prolonged contact with his.

But of course since it's a sensitive private matter between husband and wife and invariably mundane, I shan't bore you with the details. If it included sordid details about a husband and his male lover caught in the act by an aghast wife, now that would be quite different.

On a wholly unrelated note, I like the piano piece that Allen plays in episode 93 of D Gray Man. It's beautiful, haunting, hypnotic and for some reason it's like a song that never ends. I can't quite decide whether I like the arrangement by itself or as the song with the surreal vocals. I quite suspect the unadulterated vocal piece without the voice overs from the actors will be quite stunning.

But till then this eerie haunting tune keeps floating in my head. And I am thankful that the much needed break is almost here, where I will be travelling back to where it all ended or perhaps really started. More enjoyable than before for sure. Alone, a first of sorts but then again solace in solitude, for now at least.

Musician's Song