My Swing-0-meter also has “BLUE” in it…

Tears are welling up in the eyes at the slightest mention of emotion within 10 feet.

I just switched off the television – when Matt Damon tells Minnie Driver in Good Will Hunting that he doesn’t love her. Picked up a book and I stopped reading it at the paragraph where the protagonist is mourning his dead wife in the loveliest words ever written (or so they seem to me now.)

It’s not even close to PMS…so don’t know what can it be …menopause…? I read about it hitting some women sooner than it should…I guess internet is not such a good invention for the hypochondriacs.

Maybe, it’s the fear of dying alone…unnoticed. It is a recurring dream I’ve had for years. Seems to be an omen in these scary times.

Or, maybe, it is just being tired of entering an empty house that’s sitting quiet and morose like you left it when you come back tired from work… …day after day…month after month…years altogether now. When you are a “wannabe loner” instead of a "loner by nature", it does take a lot of time adjusting to a hollow routine.

Folks from home haven’t called up in three days. They think I like my ‘space’. But that is maybe because I made them believe so.

I could have called them too… but I don’t feel like listening to a sympathetic sentence or two about being brave. It annoys me.

I anyway don’t like to talk much on the phone…it makes me uncomfortable and shifty'ish, I don’t know why. I realise I have become quite weird lately.

Or, maybe, its just that I want to be fussed over once in a while.

I also just realised all of the above sounds like notes about me in my psychiatrist’s log (if I ever had one).

Do not feel like sleeping yet…so thought might as well jot this down. Anytime I write something (even as crappy as this)…and hit the "Publish Post" button, it feels like a burden off the chest. The sort of feeling you get when you finally unpack a long ignored packed luggage lying around from a vacation and tuck it back into the place where it belongs.