Solidude

After a series of golden-oldie poems, it’s probably time for a creative revolution. I’ve been trying to absorb a thoroughly dense paper for what seems like eternity; some brainless timepass is desperately needed to flush out those neural pathways. Often have I broached upon my general disgust for most human-like bipeds. The emergence of this wellspring of antisocial sentiment dates to the commencement of grad life. Now I was still reserved prior to that but misanthropy was unknown, as was the word itself. All my claims in posts past were shown the light of reality during a recent trip to Urbana. The goal was to spend the New Year with FB  and a few other pals in town. What I was not prepared for was introspection.

On the night of the 31st, we went to a local pub where a gathering of FB’s mates were having a rambunctious time. Mistake #1. I am never at ease in excessively alcoholic surroundings. Being a teetotaller has obvious health benefits; however, you stand out like a sober thumb in the midst of all that beery frolic, afraid even to order water lest they ridicule – or worse, charge – you for such a privilege. And so I sat like a bloody block of wood among strangers, eagerly awaiting departure. Then, out of nowhere, my one-time fantasy materialised in the form of a decent-looking Indian girl who occupied a neighbouring seat purely out of serendipity. Even a block of wood would have extracted some tangible benefit from this stellar alignment. I chose that moment to become more inanimate than ever, thus giving Rajesh Koothrappali a run for his money. Oddly enough, if for some weird reason we had been chatting on the net while sitting in exactly the same positions, I would have been on fire, unleashing legions of puns, PJs and sarcastic witticisms. Instead, the dark side of the loon was on display.

Do I feel like a pathetic wad of mucus-filled tissue because of this? Not really. For one, given the right geographical location and company, archival evidence suggests that my larynx is capable of producing at least an intellectual squeak. So this blemish in an otherwise pristine personality will not wind up in my list of resolutions. What does figure prominently this year is to cease walking around with an open fly. Absent-mindedness striking below the belt is absent-mindedness gone awry. Thus did I trivialise a post that promised a degree of seriousness hitherto considered impossible from the likes of me.