Oh, what a joy it is to finish reading a book you've loved. And yet, what a pain it causes in your heart at having finished it. A deep, numbing pain, and a wish that the book has a sequel . Or may be there are some pages of it left unread somewhere. And the hope you have as you are nearing the end, hoping it doesn’t end, hoping all goes well with the characters you've so grown to love and hoping that there is some more, just a little more.
Yes, I am still in the hangover of this feeling. I just finished reading a book I thoroughly enjoyed and felt, and as I hit the 100% mark, I felt the longing and the wish that there was some more of the book. I wanted to share it somewhere. The husband understands perfectly how I feel , the passionate reader that he is, but I wanted it to be some place more permanent. And that’s when I realized I have a blog, a place I love yet something I've neglected a lot in the past few months. A place which I've stopped visiting myself because I felt bad at having neglected it. Writer's block, you see. :-)
But if I didn’t write now, after having gone through an emotional upheaval and not expressed it here, I figured I would never return to writing, a love more than a hobby of mine of sorts.
I've been good. Life's been good, and I've been jolly with it. The same old stuff that I'd say to a friend I haven't spoken to , in years. But here I can be honest, can't I? :-)
So here it is. I've been jolly. Life's been good. And this probably is the most fun I am having since I can ever remember. And I can only remember fun times, except when I am feeling melancholic and digging deep into the memory troves for something that will be make me sad. Oh, there are quite a few of those. Things that make me sad with regret. Or those that make me sad with nostalgia over times that were very good. Or people that I love but don’t talk to any more for some unknown reason. But I stay to this statement - this is the most fun I've had in a long time.
Growing old feels good. I haven't still figured out what clothes look good on me, or how to make my hair behave all the time. Or what shoes to pair with what clothes. But this realization has made me feel calm, and accepting of my my-ness. The small town girl who never figured out how some of this stuff works. And that I like. But yeah, most times I wish I knew what to pair with those electric blue colored peep toes that I bought on an impulse. The feeling passes off in a while, and I safely return to my safe old pair of jeans, and slippers.
So yeah, growing old feels good. I don’t have to impress anyone with my looks, coz I know I am smarter than the way I look. And that realization is what I like. I know what I like in food now, what kind of alcohol I prefer and what I will do if there is no one around me. I have grown lazier , and I like it that people around me don’t complain about it. I have grown more stubborn , and I realize I have to work on it. I have begun to understand my strengths , especially at work, and I know I don’t use them all the time. And I am comfortable in this knowledge. All of it.
I realized that I am a butterfly when it comes to hobbies and they keep changing. This realization made me feel oddly comfortable. Now I don’t have to berate myself at not having blogged more at my Food blog, or not having cooked more for friends or not pursuing that knitting hobby.
Weekends are fun. No single weekend passes the way I intend it to pass, and I like it. The husband and I talk often about how much we wanted our weekends to be like how they are now, and we are glad that we are living it now.
Weekdays are fun too. I like what I do. Strangely enough, I wait for Mondays on most days, and ask myself what I've been doing all along before this, and why I have postponed having fun so long. Yeah, I like the work I do, the people I work with and the stuff I do when am not working at work.
It's not all as rosy as I project it to be. No one's life is. But I choose to overlook the not-so-rosy parts.. There is nothing that a little bit of good company , some optimism and some detachment can’t cure. For everything else, there is always my purple couch!