Nothingness

I have nothing to do, and nothing to write about.

Well, I have loads to do actually, but all those things involve spending time doing something which I don't like, and hence I won't do that. Instead, I sit and write. Since I have nothing to write about, I am writing about the fact that I have nothing to write about.

Life gets redundant after a while. Same old routine, even if the city you are living in now is miles away, and much less fun to be in, than the earlier one. A much smaller space to stretch my legs.

I feel that I have been taken out of a economy-class but spacious car, and stuffed into a cramped limousine. Not cramped with people per se, but cramped for space.

It can get stifling at times, and the people around can tend to trample on your feet, but I won't talk about all those right now. The reason being same as earlier, that I don't like it.

Anyway, I am happy right now. Makes no sense to reflect on the dirt of life. The bubbles, they are nice...