i dont have anything to write

Which probably means that this is going to be one of those long rambling posts again.

This is something that is perhaps a bit of a paradox ... but, in general, the more you know about a thing, the less time and effort you take to explain it.

Like in the exams, if you know the answer, it is a half-page at max ... if you don't? Well, then you don't measure it in pages ... you measure it in kilograms ... the weight of all the paper that you managed to fill up in the process of answering that simple question.

I can't seem to concentrate enough on the things I really want to do. Of late, the mere act of staying alive is taking up so much time, that there is very little left to really do things in. Have been sitting on important stuff in my personal sphere for months together ... and now it has become a dull throb in the appendage that I have used to sit on them.

A lot of things to sort out ... a lot of clutter ... in and around the house, and in the mind. Spring cleaning wont happen before autumn this year I fear. Which is ok really ... in many ways, I like autumn as much as I like spring ... if not more. And no. I don't have to be in Chicago to appreciate it ... though that does help ..

I don't know if there are a lot more people like me or this is a malady tailored just for me:
This feeling of restlessness, of things not done, of time slipping away ... so much to do ... so little time to do it in!

The vedas give man a 100 years to live and neatly divide it into bramhacharya, grihasta, vanaprastha and sanyas. I however live in a blur where all the four states seem to co-exist at the same time ... like a particle following Heisenberg's uncertainty principle ... all that my age determines, is the state that I am most likely to be in.

What it cannot change is the real state of my mind ... which fluctuates from the fire of the bramhacharya trying his best to learn as much as he can while avoiding all temptations, to the dreams and aspirations of a grihasta which fly but on clipped wings ... to the resignation of the vanaprastha .. to the euphoria of the sanyasi.

Attachment, detachment, a need to grow, a need to shrink, a need to stay, a need to move ... a plethora of opposites reside in me ... I am a plethora of opposites. Like a vector problem with myriad arrows diverging from a common center ... each pulling in a particular direction and the amplitudes as uncertain as the directions ... me just a point mass ... a negligible that gets over shadowed by these forces that push and pull in all directions ... the unattached ... the unassuming... the I.

Words, words and more words. I can use them to paint a sunset. I can use them to paint me. I can use them to express, and I can use them to impress ... but what I can never forget is just how trivial they are ... and for all the expression and all the impression, how empty I feel at times. Empty and in peace, and empty like a reverberating war drum ... damn.

A 100 years is not long enough. A 1000 years is not long enough. 24 hours in a day are not long enough.

So how can I live?

How?

I shall plagiarize and misquote ... and borrow another's poetry to be my guiding principle in life:

My candle burns at both ends ...
It shall not last the night.
But, Oh! my foes, and Ah! my friends,
It gives a lovely light