Scribbling...

Creativity and sensibility don’t go together. At least not in my case. You flaunt one, and the other leaves, making one feel like a painter who has the canvas but not a brush to stroke with, or a paint bucket but a blankness to fill in.
“If only this lampshade could stop moving!”. The intermittent noise of the paper lampshade would always cut my thoughts exactly at the point where I would be on the verge of sorting out myself. But perhaps I had synchronized my brain impulses with the cling and creak of my surroundings, so that every dream would just continue till I can bear it, and then save the rest of it for the next night. Sorting out office files is relatively easier and much less absorbing and the best thing is: I get paid for wasting time.
So tonight I leave my randomness to solve the chaos of world waiting for me in the next room.
Don’t get me wrong. I am neither psychotic nor disoriented. I am both at the same time.
Professionally a therapist, hierarchally a social animal, and emotionally a virtualist. Well yeah! I know you have never heard this term. That’s right. I just coined it. A virtualist is someone who lives at the interface of what is felt or denied, what she materializes or imagines..someone who surrenders to impossible, while living with the possible.
Yeah that’s the shortest story of my life.
“Honey I am home!”, the voice that had been clinging to me since the last half decade resounded once more. “Mom!!! I am hungry, and dad is home too. Come out..I am waiting”. Don’t know why I never liked this voice, at this very hour of my silent evenings.
The spoon was so mechanically automated to go into my mouth, with a peaceful expression on my face, so that no one could hear the paper lamp inside me.
Some live to stand and face those cutting intricacies of self, some live to nurture them.. I hereby wait to see if anyone exists, who can hold onto a single dread all this while. Someone who would stop the clock every hour, and reverse it, so that the time would never reach another while.
It’s a charm to live in the past, and dream about history. Walk today, and nourish your yesterday.Wow!Another creative thought!
Life has never been more smoother…the bright days, the dark nights, the happy family, the grateful smiles..all submerged into one lampshade that tries to hypnotize me whenever it moves. Ah but you are late my friend..too late..I already have been hypnotized by virtuality of my name. For some it was enticing, for some it was boredom intonated, but what still lingers in my goose bumps is the stranger who held my clock all this while.

Indeed…creativity and sensibility do not go together :)