Slavic

A bout of sadness struck today, after quite a while. Sure, I get upset often, now with a person, now with a situation... fortunately, not quite so much with myself as before. There is something about days like this that reminds of the phrase 'Slavic melancholy'. It is devoid of reason... I cannot usually even zero in on possible triggering events. Just deep-seated insecurities having a field-day, I suppose. Fueled by indulging and wallowing in Talat and Hemant Kumar and Rafi. Perhaps it is some kind of cleansing ritual - whenever all those people inside me who are craving for an emotional release decide that I have been regular for long enough. I no longer say things like 'the real me'. I don't know who that is anymore. I'm weary from being pulled in so many different directions. The only time I can be one way without worrying about whether I'm being too much that way is when I am by myself. Otherwise its all... the dilemma between being sensible and well... being me. Currently, 'me' has her mouth down at the corners, and is wondering if she get away with walking into the summer project viva voce with a blank mind. Slavic melancholy... where did I pick that up from? Sophie's Choice. Yes. There is some spryness left in the old grey cells yet.