Return to Uni

 Tomorrow, my uni campus will reopen after five-and-a-half months. When it had closed at the start of spring, I was worried I would struggle as I had never worked from home before. My life revolved around the PhD room. Turns out working from home is not so bad. My bedroom, the house and the surrounding are quite pleasant. I bought a desk for my room just before we locked down, and now that decision seems like a no-brainer. I haven't been very productive workwise, but I have been in good health and good spirits. What more can one ask for?

I have realised I am a person of habits and routines so going back to university will doubtless entail a significant change in routine. No more cooking in a leisurely manner and I will have to plan my dishes based on what is easy to carry for lunch. I might have to forsake afternoon coffee that I have become quite used to and think of what to do with the excess milk. But, I don't think I am going to go back to my routine before lockdown, which had me in uni from 8 am to at least 6 pm. My bedroom has become more than just a place where I sleep and exercise. I am aiming for an easier pace of life with fewer hours spent working but achieving more within them.

Of course, all this depends on how long we stay open and whether I feel safe going. I might be back to working from home within a few weeks, in which case it will be just a much-needed change of scene. If the pandemic will teach us anything, it will be to become more flexible. 

Biryani Flop

 When I was at the Indian store last month, I came across two Pakistani Masala brands that are highly recommended. My heart leapt with relief as beginning to get worried that my masala stock might not be able to last until my next trip to India. Whenever that will be. Now, I wouldn't have to worry as I had access to masalas which might be better than the brand I  favour. It turns out the Pakistani brands are even more popular than I had imagined as I found them in Tesco the other day. I picked up a pack of the famous "Bombay Biryani Masala" and tried it today.

I bombed. The biryani turned out gloopy because I overcooked the rice. In terms of taste,  I wasn't impressed either. I had used just half a pack because I didn't use as much rice as the recipe suggested. But, even half the pack set the taps in my nose running. But, apart from the heat, the biryani tasted a little bland. Either I had screwed badly or y palate doesn't favour this particular masala brand, or both. In any case, I won't be attempting a biryani any time soon. 

Morning Routine

Over the past few months, I have slipped into a morning routine that is coordinated with my housemate's. His room is directly below mine, so I can hear him when he wakes. If I am not out of bed by the time he wakes up, which is most days. I lie in and wait for him to leave. We get along fine, but I am not a social person at the best of times, and I would rather him be out of the way as I do my morning routine. He has a sports car, and for some reason, he leaves the engine idling for a few minutes before he leaves. Sometimes, he starts the engine and comes back into the house to perform his ablution while it warms up. When I hear the thud of the door, followed by a change in the tenor of his engine's sound, I know he has left for the day. In recent days, I have become lazier, so I wait for the radio news bulletin, which plays every half hour, before I get out of bed.

After brushing my teeth, I make myself a morning cup of tea. As the tea bag soaks in the water, I put away the dishes drying on the rack. I was in the British habit of dipping the tea bag a few times and chunking, but have now realised that its a collosal waste of tea. So now, I try to have something keep me occupied so that I let it soak for a few minutes. Tea ready, I go upstairs to my room and sip it as I listen to a classical music channel on the radio while sitting cross-legged on the floor. Tea finished, I do eye exercises until loo time. And, then I am ready to work for an hour or so before exercising or doing yoga. After a quick shower, I have breakfast.  So, that's my morning routine during Covid Times. I wonder if it will change in the coming months and years.

Elbow/Shoulder pain

 I have decided to see a chiropractor, or osteopath, as they say here if my elbow and shoulder pain doesn't subside within a week. The pain started soon after I began an intense body-weight routine shortly after we locked down. It grew worse over the months, and eventually I had to take a break from upper-body exercises. I had known something was off for a long time because push-ups, which I am usually do quite comfortably, had become increasingly difficult. 

As a frugal guy, I have to constantly remind myself not to scrimp over food and health. I have tried various Youtube exercises to fix the pain, but they haven't worked. So, now its time to bite the bullet and see a professional. The pain is not unmanageable, but I hate not being able to exercise. I have been doing more cardio in the form of cycling and running, but its not the same. With summer nearly over, I should also get my shoulder in working order before the weather makes exercising outdoors more difficult. In one of her yoga videos, Adrienne casually mentioned her chiropractor. So, if a yoga queen like her needs a chiropractor to fix her, who am I to feel any shame in taking the help of a professional? Come to think of it, most athletes rely on professionals to make sure their bodies are in tip-top conditon. It won't hurt me to visit one once in a while

Form Over Substance

 As I was slogging over my PhD chapter today, it just occurred to me that I might be spending too much time making sure my writing "flows", and what I write reads well. Is that the journalist in me refusing to become an academic, prioritizing form over substance? Is this what is slowing me down? And, maybe I could work on the form later once I have the substantial part figured out? I don't know. One aspect of this issue is the philosophical debate about the relationship between form and substance. Does substance change when form changes and to what extent, etc. etc. But from a more practical perspective, ss someone who thinks through their writing, the act of typing, deleting, retyping and moving things around is central to my process. That is not just the way I write, it is also the way I think. At the risk of romanticizing academic writing, I do feel it is quite a bit like creative writing, as I wrote yesterday. On the other hand, maybe I shouldn't have a fixed idea about how I work, and be open to try new approaches. To try to leave sections unfinished when I am stuck, and move on to other sections. To my credit, I have been open to trying out new things more out of necessity than out of an openness of spirit. When you consistently miss every deadline, and the project's progress defies every expectation, it is probably essential to be flexible. And, the elephant in the room is of course the pandemic and how it is affecting me personally as well as my working style. 

The Work Habits of Creatives

 Something I have increasingly been wondering about is the work habits of creative people. Do they follow a routine or do they just coast along until inspiration seizes them, assuming, of course, that other responsibilities leave them enough time to do so? Since my work schedule has become increasingly erratic over the past weeks and since I am yet to be seized by inspiration, I would really like to know.  I am not pretending that writing a PhD thesis in the social sciences is an artistic endeavour. But, it is beginning to feel like it. And, a part of me hopes that it is because I am banking a lot on non-linear progress. I haven't been idle over the past five months--far from it. I can feel the wheels turning in my brain, but I have precious little to show for it in terms of actual output. I can only hope that the level is rising on the other side of the dam (which I cannot see) and words will burst forth one day. It must, because my meandering cannot go on forever. Either inspiration will seize me or frustration will. And, maybe, just maybe, frustration can trigger inspiration. On the plus side, I am able to prevent dud days from getting me down. Most ambitious projects are leaps of faith, especially when one is sequestered by oneself in the middle of a global crisis. At such times, it is only reasonable to lean on faith more than one ordinarily would. Because there is not much else to lean on. 

I Enjoy

This evening, I dug into Yoga with Adrienne folder on my computer and decided to do a session I hadn't done in years. The session I picked was titled 'I Enjoy'. On days like today, when I felt like I was standing in a cloud of dust thrown up by my wheels spinning in place, it was just what I needed. I am trying to make a conscious effort to enjoy my PhD. The chief obstacles to my enjoyment are the scale of the task, which still feels momentous, and the pace of progress, which feels sedate. I am trying to put these perceptions out of my mind and rediscover my curiosity and wonder about my topic. Despite missing every deadline I have set myself for the past six months, I haven't grown sick of my topic. I still find it intriguing, which I suppose is an encouraging sign. So, I took particular comfort from Adriene's words towards the close of the session--" All we can do is do our best and try to enjoy". I am fairly confident that I am following the first part of that statement, so all I need to do is work in the second part.

I have managed to keep myself in good spirits so far, of which I am proud. 

Cracking the Cleaning Whip

Today, I finally had it with my housemates careless attitude towards recycling. I had written a few weeks ago about how I was fine with cleaning up after people, but found careless recycling very annoying. Today, after I found earbuds and leftover food in the recycling again, I decided to brush aside my distaste for confrontation and tell my housemates. I toyed with the idea of leaving a note for them in the sitting room, but quickly dropped it. My previous landlord used to leave passive-aggressive notes for us all the time--sometimes multiple notes a week--so leaving a note, however polite, would make me feel like hij. I had almost abandoned the idea of telling them, but then realized I could send them an email copying in my landlady. I made it as polite as I could, and felt better after I sent it. People like me who are averse to confrontation have to be careful to speak up before they reach their tolerance limits, because outbursts seldom go well. The email was a good solution because it puts the landlady in the loop, which will increase the pressure to comply. And, I can go about the house pretending nothing happened, unworried that I might run into one of them while they are reading my note, leading to awkwardness all around. 

Easy Silences

Given my personality, one would imagine that easy silences come easily to me. By an easy silence, I mean being in the presence of someone without saying a word and not feeling awkward about it. It has taken me a long time to be comfortable with easy or neutral silences. Maybe it is my Indian upbringing or, more likely, it is my discomfort with being unsocial that I feel the need to pretend otherwise. I have initiated conversations on a number of occasions that I later wished I hadn't, either because they were boring or my conversation partner said something that annoyed me, possibly without meaning to.

However, I have learnt that a smile and a 'hello' is all one needs to establish civility or even cordiality. One of my housemates and I share easy silences, and it has taken some getting used to. But, now that I am used to it, I love it. I don't like uneasy silences, and it is easy to tell them apart because we communicate so much through our facial expressions and body language. 

Nature vs Nurture

 Today, I had a marathon discussion with two friends on how early childhood relationships shape us. I feel people with difficult childhoods and a predilection for Freudian psychology tend to place a lot of weight on the influence of early childhood relationships. In our discussion, I felt my friends were in that camp--one squarely, the other more tentatively. The link between mental illness and troubled relationships, especially with parents, is undisputed. I have myself had to work through issues with one of my parents that stemmed from my early years. But, I am not comfortable treating all my behavioral traits as determined by childhood experiences. It is not clear to me that nurture trumps nature. For one, I feel people ascribe early childhood influences to negative traits, but not to positive ones. Positive traits are seen as innate or acquired through struggle (against a hostile childhood environment). This is a very lopsided way of looking at things, although understandable.  If one had a traumatic childhood and still has a fraught relationship with one's parents, it is difficult to feel charitable towards them. Before I worked through my issues with one of my parents, I would probably had been in the same camp. And, I would never describe my childhood as being traumatic. I would say it was mostly happy, despite the challenges. I suppose like with many such questions, intellectual positions are coloured by personal experience. 

Campus Opening Imminent

 Today, we got an email that our univ building would be open from next month, although people who can work from home were still advised to do so. I am not sure what I will do. Before today, I was thinking I would continue to work from home since I didn't trust the government's handling of the situation, but now I am not sure. My yoga class reopened a few weeks ago, but I am not going mainly because I don't feel like it. To be honest, its not just the Covid risk that has put me off. Its a white female space that is not very inclusive, and I don't feel like enduring it for the sake of good yoga class. So, maybe that's a useful thumb rule. I there is no clear way of assessing the Covid threat, go with your gut. With every passing hour, the thought of a change of scene is becoming more enticing. 

Let Sleeping Cycles Lie

I am starting to believe my bike has a soul. This morning, I took it to a repair shop because the rear wheel was wobbling and the tyre was also punctured. The first shop I went to said it would cost more than a 100 pounds to fix, which is a little less than half of what I paid to buy the bike brand new. I guess a bike is worth less than the sum of its parts. With a forlorn expression on my face, I asked him to order the parts and he offered to let me leave my bike with him. I agreed, but a split second later changed my mind. The thought of spending more than 100 pounds over a bike I dislike wasn't going down well at all. I took my bike and left after booking a slot for Friday. I had decided to go to the mechanic near my old house, which was a good two kilometres away. Grimacing at the thought of the long walk there and back to my house, I started down the road only to find another bike shop less than 50 metres from the first one. I checked if he could fix my bike and he agreed to do it the same day for about 60 pounds. I could have hugged him!

Fast forward to the evening, when I picked my bike up, got lost on my way back and took a super roundabout route home. I noticed that my bike had started to make a grating sound which got worse with time. I groaned! It must be the brakes brushing against the wheel again. I huffed and puffed up the hill to my house, feeling like a proper fool for expending all that energy grating my own tyre as though it was a block of cheese. When I reached home and took a closer look, it turned out that it wasn't the brake but eh mudguard that was brushing against the tyre. If i hadn't just spent 60 pounds on it, I would power-slammed my bike. I thought of venting to someone, but its my experience that when you vent, people often don't give you the exact level of sympathy you need, and using the perfect words. I decided I would juist vent on my blog later and take it back to the mechanic tomorrow. As luck would have it, the rain is forecast to pelt down tomorrow. 

There was nothing to do but bury my head into my spreadsheets. Cleaning up data can be therapeutic on rare occasions. But later, as I was having dinner it struck me that I could try to fix it myself by borrowing my housemate's tools. I did so, and managed to adjsut the tyre so that it didn't brush agaisnt the mudguard. Only to have it brush the brakes again! Fate seemed to be crossing its limits. But, after I had tinkered around a bit more, the tyre magically stopped brushing either the brake or the mudguard. I picked my tools and ran, deciding to let sleeping cycles lie. Tomorrow, it might start acting up again, but with a new day comes new hope and new strength. 

A Kick on my Pants... that Died Quickly

 I was struggling to get back in the work groove today when I saw a tweet from a member of staff at my university announcing that she was taking up a new job. Immediately, I wondered if my university would hire someone to replace her and scoured the uni's job ad pages. There was no job ad, but I decided that this was the kick I needed to get on with my PhD. New opportunities could open up at any time, and I may miss them if I am not far enough along with my PhD. With renewed resolve, I sat down at my desk only to discover that the government had lifted its cap on university seats, meaning the higher-ranked unis could hoover up this year's student intake. Since my uni isn't high-ranked, it would doubtless suffer. A twitter thread from my supervisor confirmed my suspicions and took the air out of my newfound resolve.

I love my research topic, but it is difficult to stay focussed on my PhD when there is so little certainty about what will come after it. I am still hoping to get a job at my uni but I will have to be prepared for any outcome. I wish  I could just shout out the noise and immerse myself in my PhD but that is difficult during slow periods. Wrestling with the question of what is the conceptual core of your PhD during a pandemic is not ideal. I suppose it helps that I have nothing else to do but one can spend an inordinate amount of time fretting about the state of the world. 

Boundaries

 Today was an intense day. I went to a Black Lives Matter protest with a friend which was full of white people, although it was lead by black people at least. Afterwards, we went to the city centre for beers and burgers, which is when she made a joke that touched a livewire in me. I made my displeasure known immediately but she didn't pick up on it, possibly because I am not easily offended by jokes. After a fw minutes of awkward conversation she made a remark about how silent I was, which is when I told her again. She apologized immediately.

I am someone whose jokes often touch the boundary between humour and offence. I don't want the be that guy who can dish it out but can't take it. Indeed, there have been times when I tried too hard to be the funny guy and ended up being an asshole. At the risk of sounding self-righteous, I would say that being funny and offensive is much easier than being funny and inoffensive. Yes, I have a very dry sense of humour, which I am not ashamed of, but I don't assume that everyone will appreciate it. but, while it is good to self-reflective and conscious of potential hypocrisy, I have learnt over the years that it is better to be frank when someone has hurt you, especially if that person is close to you, than allow it to fester within you. Festering wound often burst when you least expect it and can cause heavy damage. Boundaries are important because they protect our raw spots, the parts of us which we are not ready to hold up to sunlight just yet.  

Truth

 This evening, I did a practice from my favourite yoga with Adrienne series, which is special to me because I came to it when I was clambering up from the pit of depression. The video was titled truth practice, which got me thinking about truth. I have written before quoting Georg Simmel who believed what is useful is true and not the other way around. But, I have a few more random thoughts on the subject. I believe something is true if you don't have to convince yourself about it, if you can feel it. When you stop fighting it, you feel a sense of ease even if it makes life more difficult and complicated. it can be frustrating when you "know" something to be true, but can't feel it. For instance, when all rational signs point out you have a unhealthy relationship with guilt, but you can't "feel" it. The connection between truth and honesty is more nebulous. When you are doing something dishonest and acknowledge that fact to yourself, if not to anyone else, isn't that your truth? I am not trying to be a wise ass (If you are honesty about dishonesty, doesn't that make you honest?). I do feel that it is perfectly possible to do something dishonest without a shred of guilt if you have made peace with yourself about it. And, that is easier said than done for sensitive, conscientious folk. 

Broken Glass

 This afternoon, as I was making my way up to my room after lunch, I heard the sound of shattering glass in the kitchen. My pan, which was drying on the kitchen range tipped over onto my annoying housemate's wine glass and sent it tumbling to the ground. When I told my housemate about it in the evening, she took it worse than I thought. Fair enough, maybe she really liked that glass, and she is that kind of person who forms strong connections with inanimate objects. But, a few minutes later she warned me not to break her drinking glasses sa she really liked them. WTF! As though I had broken her wine glass on purpose. At that moment, I decided to never use any utensils of hers again. It is something that I have always been uncomfortable about since I am not fond of her at all. When she is in the kitchen, I try not to use any of her stuff, which, I know, is a little sneaky. but, this incident settles it. Tomorrow itself, I am going to buy some utensils and also replace her flute glass. 

Her presence has been bothering me less ever since I decided to not give her any space in my head. The busybody in me was curious about her and had even looked her up on FB. When she made that snarky remark about the glasses, I was quite annoyed for a bit, but I am over it now. I am not going to use any of her stuff from tomorrow and go back to not paying any attention to her. Till a  few days ago, I admit that I was even hoping that she would be fired from her job and have to move out of Bristol and this house. Now, I don't really care. It is a liberating feeling when you are able to become indifferent to someone who took up space in your head. 

Feels Like Being Back in Mumbai

 After I came back from a run this morning, I thought I was back in Mumbai. I didn't stop sweating for half an hour. The temperature these past few days has been hovering around 30C, but it is the soggy grip of humidity that has been the hardest to endure. People have been complaining about how they are having trouble sleeping. I have managed by having a cold shower before bed and making sure I don't nap during the day. As someone who prefers the cold to the heat, I can vividly remember the times I found it too hot to sleep, sometimes going back more than ten years. When I visited Chennai for the first time in July of 2007, it was so balmy that I couldn't sleep. Before moving there, I remember agonizing over whether it would be too hot and humid for me. And, it was, but I was lucky enough to have a bedroom in a sixth-storey apartment with a great cross breeze. My other housemates weren't so lucky, but they were sound sleepers, so they managed. If you are a light sleeper who wilts in the heat, you have had it. Another time was when I was taking a train in June to Delhi around 2005-06, enroute to a trek in the Himalayas. I remember standing at the door of the compartment of the running train and being whipped by hot blasts of air. I was on the middle bunk, so I stuck my hand out of the window of the lower bunk to catch some cool air. Going back in time even more, I remember spending some sleepless nights at my grandparent's place. I would flood the room with water to cool it, but that seldom worked. As I am writing this, I felt a draft of cooler air float in through the window. The met department has thunderstorm warnings out for all of this week, so hopefully we will have some good rain. 

Busybody

I have always been fond of gossip, which I have attributed to my roots in journalism. But, the pandemic has made me even more of a busybody. Working from home all day has made me acutely curious about all the going-ons around me. Trying to guess which days my annoying housemate works in an electronic store, why did an ambulance pull up in front of our neighbour's house last week, what is the connection between our neighbour and their neighbour on the other side as they always seem to be passing through each other's back gardens? I have often wondered whether it is possible to be fascinated by people's lives without any desire to interact with them. I guess I am interested in people to the extent that I am interested in their stories. If I can find out their stories without talking to them that would be great. But I am too much of an introvert that, I would prefer not talking to someone even if that meant giving up on finding their stories. 

But, I realized my annoying housemate was taking up too much space in my head. The more I concerned myself with her affairs and the more space she occupied in my head, the more irritated I would feel the next time she does something to piss me off. So, I am making a conscious effort to ignore her. 

Cleaning Up After People

Ever since my Romanian housemate's mother left, the task of keeping the house clean has fallen on me. When she was around, I knew that our house was as clean as it was because of her. But, I was also under the impression that my other housemates were cleaner and more considerate than the average housemate. Since she left, I have discovered I was wrong. They are no cleaner and no more considerate than what you would expect people their age to be.

I don't mind being the one who cleans the most as it gives me something to do with my hands. The common areas are clean thanks to me and I even take some pride in them. But, improper garbage disposal does annoy me. For instance, I found a watermelon rind in the recycling box today. I also often see stuff that can't be recycled in the recycling box, which irritates. me. But, after toying with the idea of educating my housemates, I decided against it. Firstly, I go out of my way to avoid confrontation, which is a weakness that I am well-aware of. But, educating them will also entail having a long conversation with them and possible arguments about what can or can't be recycled. I just can't be bothered. The nature of renting with young people in Bristol is they never stick around in one place for long. In a space of eight months I have had two changes of housemates and I daresay that number would have been higher but for the pandemic. Another housemate is trying to save up to move. Why waste time engaging with people who are here today, gone tomorrow?

Cleaning up after people without reproaching them has given me a glimpse of what life is like for many women. I suppose some of them don't reproach the offenders because they have given up after trying too many times, or possibly of out fear of abuse. 

Loners Out and About

 I frequently go for walks on the downs behind my house and I can count on one hand how many times I have seen people walking alone. When there is no human company, there is usually a dog. And, the few lone walkers I have seen were all men, except one. Obviously, safety would be a concern for women. But, I am wondering whether my experience of walking alone, and generally being by myself most of the time, would change if I saw more loners out and about. Would one feel as lonely in a world of proud loners? it is human to compare your life with other people's lives, and when most of the people out and about are couples, families or groups of friends it is natural to feel out of place if you are alone. Often, what one misses is not company itself but the idea of company or at the cost of seeming too cynical the idea of being seen with company. When one is bored while alone, one misses company, conveniently assuming they wouldn't be bored among company. I am not trying to say humans are not social animals. Also, some are obviously more social than others. But, the more social ones are seen as the norm and the rest of us are considered aberrations. 

Taken for Granted Redux

 My previous post about being taken for granted was about standing up for myself and making clear how I expected to be treated. But, how one expects to be treated is not set in stone, especially not during Covid times. A close friend recently confirmed what I had been suspecting--my Taken-for-granted radar has become more sensitive in recent times. I am aware I have always been sensitive about being taken for granted and its possible that Covid has reduced my thresholds further. However, I do feel that, in general, during a prolonged crisis people both take others for granted more easily and also feel taken for granted more easily. In other words, people become more self-interested. Our own experience of the crisis looms so large above us that it makes it difficult for us to see life from other people's perspective. In normal times, there is a more even distribution of those who need empathy and those in a position to deliver it. As someone who doesn't need a lot of empathy at the moment (knock on wood) nor has a lot of it to give, maybe its not a bad thing to become more of a recluse.As someone with few but close friends, I hitherto never minded taking the effort to keep in touch. Now, I find myself less inclined to do so. I don't feel bitter, I just feel like I can't be bothered to put in the effort. 

Communication Frequency

As someone who is quick to respond to messages, people who take ages to respond have always been a  pet peeve of mine. The peeve turns into pain in the sphere of online dating, but can be a cause of  stress even when there is no prospect of romance. For instance, a close friend is going through a tough situation and is seeking my advice from time to time. Except that she is not every prompt at responding to my messages asking for updates on her situation, which makes me worry. I am not calling her out on it because I don't want to make this about myself, but I can't deny that it is a cause of stress for me. To be sure, I am not the only friend whose counsel she is seeking, so I shouldn't expect to be updated in real time. I am also conscious of the fact that my neediness could be masquerading as concern--something I have become hypersensitive about in recent years. 

Over the years, I have tempered my expectations of prompt responses, but I try to speak out when I feel completely taken for granted. A few days ago, I ticked off a friend who hadn't responded clearly when I texted him to make a plan and only popped into view when his other plan got cancelled. But, it is one thing to be peeved and another matter when you are worried, especially if you are an anxious personality, like me and my mother. She panics if I don't pick up the phone. On the very off chance that I ever become a parent, I am sure, I will be of that kind. 

A PhD Need Not BE One's Life's Work

I came across a tweet yesterday which quoted from Leiden University's website: 'The dissertation need not be one’s life’s work. Any research project is theoretically infinite, but at some point the dissertation simply needs to be finished.' It came as a topical reminder to me as I struggle in the final year of my PhD. My PhD involves engaging with or navigating around several complex topics, and I am having a tough time deciding which of these buckets a particularly topic should go into it. It feels like walking a tightrope--a few careless paragraphs could completely put off an uncompromising examiner. Hopefully, as I refine my core arguement, I will be able to narrow the scope of my thesis. I should also take heart from the fact that my first academic publication dipped into several topics. Of course, it was co-authored by my supervisor, but almost all of it was written by me.  

Baby News!

This morning, my cousin sent a Lion King meme which had a chimpanzee (I think) holding SImba, the lion club, with his arms outstretched. The meme had a few lines from the Elton John song and said 'Due Feb 2021'. I assumed the next Lion King movie is releasing in Feb 2021 and that my cousin was a massive fan. I haven't seen the original movie, so I didn't give it much thought. Turns out she is pregnant and expecting a baby! "Circle of life, band new story" (get it!!). No, I didn't and neither did other extended family members who have advanced degrees. So, it became about a story about PhDs not being able to follow gen pop humour. Anywya, I was thrilled by the news. I don't see myself as given to extremes of emotion in normal circumstances, but this is not a normal circumstance. And good news feels like spotting an oasis in a desert right now.
I usually don't write about family and life events unless I have a deeper point to make. Maybe that is about to change. I realised yesterday that the deeper points that I thought I was making are, in reality, not that deep. And can't my blog also be a chronicle of my life, something more in the nature of a diary?