Scattered Aurora

I haven't written anything on any of my blogs for so long (make that a few days) that now I feel as hesitant as I would feel stepping into an office for an interview or going into my dads room to ask his permission for something I know I really don't want. And I really have no idea as usual what I'm writing about. Maybe I'm just writing for writing's sake. But even if that's the case why do I still want to write. I mean I can just take a break can't I? Its not like anyone is paying me to write something every day here. Then why do I have to feel this stupid sense of responsibility towards my blog when I don't even have a damn readership. Why do I start feeling so bad about not writing something, anything at all. No make that something worthwhile. If I write anything at all in my blog I feel really ashamed as if I somehow haven't really come up to everyone's expectations. I mean it has to be really really perfect and really literary or philosophical or some jargonic bull, with lots of flowery confusing phrases and with at least half the dictionary put in. Why can't I just put all my feelings and thoughts in simpler words instead of releasing them in a torrent of creative outlets that sometimes no one can even understand. Why do I have to make everyone get lost in a jungle of words and expressions? What do I have to prove? That I know the language and I can speak and write it quite nicely? Who do I have to prove it to anyways? To my friends, who already fantasizingly associate more with my language skills than the reality; or to my parents and relatives, for whom the knowledge that they put me in a 'good English-medium' school is sufficient and now they really don't care if I wrote a book on how to use the English language. If not to these most important people in my life, then to whom? To the strangers whom I don't even know and who don't even know me. The people of this world, who are unknown to me and whose existence is questionable in my eyes (forgive me I've been reading Heidegger). Who may live or die for all I care, and I wouldn't even know the story of their life or they the story of mine. What is it then that is forcing me towards writing these pieces in a way which I clearly despise. I don't know. And I'm scared to search for the answers even. I just say I don't know and I don't even want to know. But I do, no matter how much I deny it, I really do, but as I said above I'm just too scared of finding the answers. Now this is the strangest part of all. I know what I am and basically I can even sense what is wrong with me and there are a few things that are very wrong which I regard as the flaws of my being (talk to my mom; that's the understatement of the year). Even if I don't know what is the main reason why I do what I hate but I know basically in which flaw of my being this comes under (you see there are different headings). The strange thing is that even if I am peripherally aware of what is wrong then why the hell am I scared to go in deeper to look for answers. I am not saying that suspecting the reason should force me to look for the answer but just that there should be a different emotional excuse for my deliberate circumvention of the issue. I should be uninterested, happy with the way things are, or even sad but I shouldn't be scared. Maybe I'm scared because i fear that the true answer might somehow make me hate my flawed being even more. sigh. Sometimes the reasons behind our stupid arguments can be even more stupid than the arguments themselves. Man should really be proud of the level of stupidity he can achieve single-handedly. And I should really stop taking philosophy so much! Its making me go crazy!!!

P.S. It's funny how we all start our blog post with I-have-no-idea-what-to-write-about sometime or the other and usually that post ends up to be one of the longest ones in our archives. Man and his eccentricities. Tchh Tchh... *shakes head* ;p