CIMDHOG

"Love is a beautiful thing"- I say this a lot especially when I happen to  be around other people, not because of my strong belief for the statement, certainly not for any form of propagation for the statement. The sole reason for my bold outward proclamation of the above statement is to serve as a form of disguise for my inwardly and personal convictions on the topic. Simple and plain, I don't want to be one of those that people described as monsters or cold hearted for not being "all about love" Don't get me wrong, i am not "anti-love" because "God is love", but am quite put off by the human definition of love, a few of which includes:   - butterflies in the stomach; which is anatomically, physiologically, pathologically and naturally incorrect   - heart skipping a beat: now that's a symptom of a heart disease or condition   - feeling of fondness: we all get fond of a lot of things   - being shot an arrow in the heart by a myt

with finals fast approaching, i get alot of "how is reading going?". my response had always been one of the following: 1) a polite and gentle smile ( i may add a little nodding, just to give it some action) 2) a slight shrug + "we thank God" 3) "fine, thank you" 4) a clever dodge of the question now to those who bombard and embarrass me with this question, below is a full detailed account of how reading is really going. It always starts out with full determination and zeal. At that moment in time, the sight of the books brings nothing but joy to my thirsty soul, who is eager to fill up the neuronal spaces with compacted academic knowledge. To be quite honest, it feels great. Barely two minutes into my ravenous dig into knowledge, a neuronal fibre in my brain snaps, shutting down the power house of determination and zeal, this results to my unending boredom, everything else apart from the books seem more interesting...even popping my non-exist

There are times where I have thoughts to pen down but no time or motivation to pen them down. The other times, I do have the motivation to pen things down, but right at that moment my full flowing ocean of thoughts go dry. It gets frustrating, each time I stare at the blank page of my word document, counting the blinks of the typing thingy. I give it a first shot, clear it all up. I give it another shot, clear it all up again, then I take a very long pause trying to squeeze out some moisture out of the damp wet land where my lustrous ocean of thoughts used to dwell.  After this, I throw my hands up in the air both in disgust and defeat, close up the blank page then continue with my game. FYI, that was the genesis of this short piece...enjoy