This post does not have a title because I am sad and have an attention span of a nitwit

I cannot remember the last time I wrote a cohesive story, and hence I am sad.

Actually, that’s not true. I’m in general sad, not necessarily because of the lack of ability to weave a lie.

Actually, I’m not sad. Just Blah.

Not too blah though. I cooked yesterday. And I’m still alive. So technically I should be looking at this world as a second chance at life right now, no?

Ooh…raindrops! For a moment there, I thought I’d never feel you splash on my face again. And again. And bloody hell, again.

Ok, so I realised I’m reading too many random blogs nowadays. Do you have any idea the huge number of blogs that become popular just because they write small random un-intelligent things which apparently the world’s population identifies with and replies in tiny witty comments to as well? The amount of pressure to make sure your opinion is funny is enough to fry the crap out of you. And you spend your day wondering what’s so awesome about that writing. And then you can’t write.

So I think I need to restrict my reading and stop reading blogs which use incorrect grammar, sentences smaller than my Tamilian friend’s name, and euphemisms and non-sensical crap disguised as wit. It’s clearly affecting my writing. Not only do I suddenly have nothing to write about, my basic attention span while writing has gone down to that of a nitwit.

Oooh, that reminds me, while reading the works of Franz Kafka yesterday, I realized that he was diagnosed with Schizoid Personality Disorder, which dear Google explained was this:

“Schizoid personality disorder is one of a group of conditions called eccentric personality disorders. People with schizoid personality disorder also tend to be distant, detached, and indifferent to social relationships. They generally are loners who prefer solitary activities and rarely express strong emotion.”

And for a bit, I truly believed that this universe had an explanation for me. But then I pushed Google a little further, and the following was thrown up at me:

“They tend to choose jobs that allow them to work alone, such as night security officers and library or laboratory workers.”

Phew! So I cannot possibly be a Schizoid. Nice to know that most poor security officers or librarians or lab workers are though. See anything wrong with that sentence? No? Hmm. Must be something I ate then.

P.S. Don’t worry Mum, I’m just joking about having a disorder. I don’t think anything major is wrong with me. And if it is, it will one day be discovered, and then after years of scientific research be named Shively Personality Disorder. Cool, no? No? Oh, ok.

P.P.S. I don't mean any disrespect towards people who do suffer from Schizoids. I understand it is a serious disorder, and I wish you all well. Specially if you're spending your time reading my blog.