Wait. What?

The only funny thing about turning 30, is the episode on Friends when they all turn 30. And by funny, I mean sad. And by sad, I mean meh. My only question is, what next? Turning 32. Oh, would you look at that, age is increasing while bra size remains the same. Turning 35. Girl, I think the One came. And came again. And left. Turning 40. Still cry to mommy about period cramps. Aww. Absolutely nothing is what is next. I have no more aspirations, or dreams, or all the things our beloved APJ stood for in life. While my motivation to get up from my bed remains the same (breakfast) the satisfaction of living throughout a day is dropping unrealistically. I finished The Hand Maid's Tale two weeks ago, beautifully written, and the fact that I could relate to woman of such deep emotions was surprising. But the fact that I ran to bookstore to buy the book's sequel the very next day, and to not read a single page from it since - alarming. Turning 45. yaar, mera ...

I have a super bad headache. Must be from all the old sitcoms and tv shows I’ve been watching. I finished Seinfled, almost finished with Gilmore Girls. I’m thinking of Gossip Girls next or Pretty Little Liars, I’m not sure. Yes, these are not what the cool people watch, so bite me. I’ve also watched Dawson’s Creek. I subscribe to a newsletter (weekly column?) from a (not so)famous person, every week when I see the mail in my inbox, my heart just sinks because I know I am not going to read it and my guilty conscious just gained a bit of weight. I’ve stopped interacting with humans. The only emotional connect I have is with my dog. You know when you have a problem (like, that is so rare right?), but you don’t want to tell anyone that you have a problem (oh the sheer, i-am-so-over-humanity), but you want someone to figure out that you have a problem (the world doesn’t revolve around me? Oh shocking!). And if they do figure out that you have a problem (thankyouverymuch), yo...