Mera Emosanal Atyachaar

Okay, very sad state of affairs. Sitting here in my night clothes since 3.30 pm. Been eating a lot of nonsense (cheese parathas, ribbon murukku and Cadbury Dairy Milk eclairs). Now listening to "Tauba tera jalwa/tauba tera pyaar/tera emosanal atyachaar" (brass band version at that!)O.S.T: 'Dev D'-the Anurag Kashyap's to be released take on 'Devdas'.
How cool. How..in control.
Left office early on account of me feeling so feverish that the greatest copy I could come up with was "Reach for the stars." Eyes burning and head spinning, I knew it was a matter of time before I laid myself down in the middle of the corridor, muttering incoherently.
Of course, it had to be raining when I stepped out. On top of that, some idiot parked his(or her) car too close to my right side. So I had to squish in from the left door, over the gearshift and accidentally kicked the AC vent. Came home to pitch darkness (no current) and whined for food while re reading the TENTH and FINAL Princess Diaries (Michael Moscovitz is my boyyyy!!) And I ate TWO huge cheese parathas even though I swore I would never touch the stuff after I put on 8 kilos in 12th standard thanks to the addiction.
What's the point of regret?? Seriously. I'm not going to say anything. And I am NOT going to cry when my jeans band is so tight it rolls down.
Not. Gonna. Cry.
I've been feeling awfully quiet since I went on overdrive and posted a million posts during the New Year period. But I've made some decisions. I've got myself a nice new notebook and I'm going to write in my journal REGULARLY. I was looking at my old diaries during the weekend and saw the one of 13 and a half year old me. I was more...er, frank and did a lot more venting. The new me happened to babble reams of morose abstract poetry and prose, without meaning anything and with it NOT HELPING AT ALL.
So I'm going to vent more. It's not always good to tell people things. Especially when you don't have the right people to tell.

Like the times when all you hear is an echo of your own deafening thoughts, so claustrophobic you can't breathe. You reach for the phone and you can't say a word. You open your mouth and you shut it. You're in this big white space inside your head and it's hollow, hollow, hollow. You're drowning of loneliness in a sea of people.

Now you see why my new diary wasn't helping at all. It would only make me MORE depressed. From now on, only happy happy thoughts. And if I can't think any about myself, my life or my lack of it, I'll think about 'Dev D'.