“We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love. ~Author Unknown”
I lie in bed upside down, craving a solidly frozen milk chocolate bar – preferably one that lasts me at-least an hour – and read blogs.
I’m new here, and this seems like a world in itself. I had wanted to start a blog for quite some time, and I kept putting it off. Too busy, too lazy. You should know, I’m an amazingly lazy person, one who could lie on an uncomfortable floor in sweltering heat for quite a long time, simply because I couldn’t be bothered to get up, fetch a cushion, and turn on the fan.
Which brings us back to now ( you’ll notice I gave an unfortunate habit of rambling).
Anyway, I keep reading these, and sometimes, clicking on people who commented on something, and reading what they wrote (it feels eerily like stalking to me). Its like a whole new world. I’ll read a blog that makes me smile in remembrance, then one that’ll make me chuckle. Another will make me laugh out loud. Then there will be one that brings a tear to my eye. Another one will have me nodding my head in agreement. One that I will simply admire. It’s like a box of Jewels. Thrown together pell mell by someone. And I’m looking through it. Each time I pick one up, I unearth another. Each time I look at one, I see a glimpse if the owner. A ring inscribed with a heartfelt message to a fiancé. A bracelet, scratched with age and yet in good care, lovingly worn. An earring, broken and dented, as if thrown in anger. Every piece, original, beautiful, and a glimpse into another life.
I have always loved reading. I love fiction. A “book addict” would be apt. I have loved escaping into a world of wonders, of illusions. I did occasionally read blogs, and posts and articles. Yet it is now, dipping into this treasure trove, that I realize, this reading is very different. It is real. And possible. Not like the reality stories and news pieces. Not the gritty stories of harsh reality. Simply, ordinarily, real. Something, that makes me feel that all those silly little things I think about, obsess over and fuss about, that make me feel like a drama queen, are things other people out there do exactly the same about.Gives me a sense of camaraderie in my weirdness.
I think I love blogging. Doesn’t make me feel less weird. But gives me a warm tingly feeling knowing there are other weird people out there. 🙂