Chronicling Doom as it comes

Yes, I know. 4 months is a long time. Then again, these last four look like they've flown past like a comet blazing across the night sky. There are a number of reasons for my internet silence. There was school, for one. That energy-sapping, zombie-creating asylum would have been reason enough to not write a single word for the many decades of life I (hopefully) have in front of me. However, there's more than that. I've suffered a range of disappointments in these last 4 months, ranging in magnitude from Chelsea's slight dip in form to things which are best not mentioned in the public forum of the blogosphere. And even as I write this, my earphones are echoing what my mind is telling me - "What I've Done". And yet, it hasn't all been bad. I've taken up my first job, and like all great men, I start off working without pay. However, I've (successfully, I hope) morphed from the guy who just blabs on the internet between increasingly long intervals, into a guy who encourages other people to do the same, and then criticizes them gleefully.

And then there's...oh wait, there's nothing more. That's the only positive in the last three months, so I shall now proceed to list out the negatives. If Blogger doesn't have a word-limit, that is.

Where do I begin? Well, in August, I went on my usual pilgrimage of Chowdiah Memorial Hall, only to see Giri Balasubramaniam hand out those two coveted laptops, not to Anoop Gopalam and self, but to a couple of bums from Jain College. That wasn't the worst part though, not by a long shot. The real stab was how close we were to taking those notebooks home. Anyway, that was just the first of my series of unfortunate events.

In September, I attained the distinction of having the lowest ratio of Academic Potential to Marks, with the figure reportedly being so low that China invented a new supercomputer to calculate it.

In October, I was exiled from football, banished by His Royal Highness KM Gopinath, my ortho. Apparently, I had a layer of soft tissue growing around my right big toe, and this tissue thought it would be fun to give me a jolt of sharp, shooting pain every time I touched a football with my right foot.

In November, well, it will be sufficient to say that things have happened. Things that are beyond words. Things that struck me below the belt, and struck me particularly hard.

Well, it's been a good four months, hasn't it? You tell me.

Like they say, so far, so good. Smite me, oh Mighty Smiter!

until next time,

bala