Originally Posted on July 23rd, 2012.
Several of my attempts at posts sound a little as if I am mentally tipping over the edge. They reflect the deeper part of me – something I am not so comfortable with sharing. But the whole point of this blog is to document my life in India, therefore, I cannot simply construct a blog that portrays the happy go-lucky me; because if you know me, you know that is not me, or at least not the real me. I’m not sure why I am procrastinating on my blog; there are a thousand excuses. The primary though, is this sort of zombie rut that I am in. I feel like I am just going through the motions of every day life. I want to be creative, I want to spin interesting thoughts into works of art, but I have not found my muse, (I will admit that even the ganj is not doing it). When I do write, it seems to be a pathetic attempt, fake in expressing my mind’s wit, and forced. There is no fluidity in my writing, the wheels are not turning, and I am surprised. Where has that zest gone? Where have I veered away from the progress I’ve made? I feel so closed in my mind. Not just in regard to writing, or any art for that matter, but generally. I am mystified at how I live in one of the most insane cities in the world, and I am not getting inspiration in life. Sanju tells me my lethargy and lameness is due to the monsoons. He says they do this to everyone. Certainly when the rains come, I feel like crawling into bed for eternity. Yet, I still cannot blame the rains, they have only just arrived a week ago, and I have felt this way since I came here. I feel sort of like I am in a maze, and sometimes, I think I know where I am going, and I am happy and energetic to get there, and then I hit a wall. Frustration sets in and I feel like screaming at the world to fuck off, feel like finding a spot where there is only nature. Is it culture shock? Is this what I am feeling? Perhaps. I do tell Sanju multiple times a week that I am homesick. I am naturesick, I miss my country, my American food, and well spoken English. Whatever the culprit, I wish it would leave me the fuck alone. Zombies are no fun.
Several of my attempts at posts sound a little as if I am mentally tipping over the edge. They reflect the deeper part of me – something I am not so comfortable with sharing. But the whole point of this blog is to document my life in India, therefore, I cannot simply construct a blog that portrays the happy go-lucky me; because if you know me, you know that is not me, or at least not the real me. I’m not sure why I am procrastinating on my blog; there are a thousand excuses. The primary though, is this sort of zombie rut that I am in. I feel like I am just going through the motions of every day life. I want to be creative, I want to spin interesting thoughts into works of art, but I have not found my muse, (I will admit that even the ganj is not doing it). When I do write, it seems to be a pathetic attempt, fake in expressing my mind’s wit, and forced. There is no fluidity in my writing, the wheels are not turning, and I am surprised. Where has that zest gone? Where have I veered away from the progress I’ve made? I feel so closed in my mind. Not just in regard to writing, or any art for that matter, but generally. I am mystified at how I live in one of the most insane cities in the world, and I am not getting inspiration in life. Sanju tells me my lethargy and lameness is due to the monsoons. He says they do this to everyone. Certainly when the rains come, I feel like crawling into bed for eternity. Yet, I still cannot blame the rains, they have only just arrived a week ago, and I have felt this way since I came here. I feel sort of like I am in a maze, and sometimes, I think I know where I am going, and I am happy and energetic to get there, and then I hit a wall. Frustration sets in and I feel like screaming at the world to fuck off, feel like finding a spot where there is only nature. Is it culture shock? Is this what I am feeling? Perhaps. I do tell Sanju multiple times a week that I am homesick. I am naturesick, I miss my country, my American food, and well spoken English. Whatever the culprit, I wish it would leave me the fuck alone. Zombies are no fun.
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