Too Much Time, Too Little TMI

For those of you blinking at your Readers wondering if this is a bot-generated post since I never manage to find time to write two times in a week (without being seriously depressed anyway) – I’m just practicing for when I don’t have a job ok :) Moving on, I know I’ve conveniently ignored TMI Thursdays for a while now, so here’s 4 weeks’ worth (warning: will scar you for life) (plus also, you’re welcome):

Closure. Everyone wants it. But how do you get it? Well I thought the following would achieve it:

• Call Vodafone and get them to block person’s number. Delete number and texts from the number. Then, just to be on the safer side, get a new number :P
• Delete all chats, emails, and notifications to and from the person. On all your email addresses and messenger lists. Of which, btw, I have many.
• Set up an email filter to send all the person’s emails to spam, set spam filters to auto-delete.

… And I realize now that it should’ve stopped with just 3 steps, but back then, what I also did was delete my Google account, blog included. So there I am a year ago, all closured out; except for one teeny tiny little HUGE problem. My PMS alerts go to that inbox. And why do I need to know if I’m PMS’ing? I mean it’s not like I need to time when I’m getting laid so I don’t lay my own. Because I’m not getting any. So isn’t it enough to look down every so often and go “Oh, right, hi?” Fair point, but… no. Just no.

See, I need to know if I’m being irrational of my own accord or if it’s some greater power driving the irrationality. I need to realize I’m going to be majorly pissed off at everything so I know I don’t REALLY mean it. My PMS alerts put my life in perspective. Without them, I’m just crabby all MONTH around.

Anyway, as you all know, scary story ends happily; Abhijeet rescued my Gmail account literally in the nick of time (hurray for working at Google), the closured boy was dis-closured; peace to all on Earth and suchlike. But here’s the funny part.

One. I don’t actually remember why I was pissed enough to do all this drama. All I remember from this life-changing period (no pun intended) was not knowing when I’d get it. And yes baba, I do know I can just count, but NO.

Second. My cycle’s changed since and that alert’s of no use to me whatsoever. And I know I can reset it, but mehhh. I think I get phantom PMS on that cycle, which the alert is still good for. I'm tempted to go back and count how much of this counted as TMI, but I don't think even I want to re-read this traumatic entry. So bye.

Offline

Given I've the world's shortest temper ever, it goes without saying that I frequently find myself blocking people on instant messengers. Over the years, I've realized there are 3 main categories of block-heads:

1. The Homicidal Maniac: Plunge in an axe, run them over, a tree falls on them; and yet, there they are in front of you when you turn around... peekaboo! This one resumes exactly where they stopped talking when you last blocked them... forty thousand years ago.

2. Ghajini-Block: These are the people you block outta sheer boredom, and then forget you blocked them because they weren't interesting enough to agonize over their loss anyway. A few months later you realize they haven't pinged you in a while, and then you realize it's 'cos you blocked them. Erm.

3. Block-Buster: These are the people you block and unblock depending on perceived and unperceived slights; so much so you've to actually go over and let them know they're now being blocked. Or reverse. And repeat.

In other news, I've 27 working days left at my workplace; and 35 vacation days I can't even go back in time to use. FML.

The Marriage Series - II

Me: What's with the questions, can you make coffee... Who only can't make? It's like a basic test of cognitive ability or something.

Arun: Sarcasm detector status: not available. I can't.

Me: No, you don't. And neither do I. But as for the capacity to follow 3 simple steps without having a heart attack... I do believe that if we can remember to breathe in and out and put left foot before right foot, it's not that unimaginably obscure to imagine we could conceivably make coffee. No?

(Pssst: Arun is very single, very available, and even if I only say it because he's my manager, rather cute. If you'd like to hit on him, I suggest praising his blog whilst holding up a signboard that says 'I'm hitting on you' in size 72 font. That should do it.)