Getting up early to move my car to make way for someone else car really pissed me off. I was there in my warm bed and suddenly I was awakened by this strong disturbing force telling me to do what I should I have done the previous night itself. Why does the 'nights' always feel so good.. with all the freedom to do anything. We just get lost during the night sometimes; unleashing ourselves. Feeling invincible. But its the mornings that I hate the most. Especially when you don't have the liberty to just lie there and continue with your beautiful sleep. I drag myself out of the body. Initially my body denies what I say and that happens almost every time. Should I be happy that another Friday has finally arrived or should I be sad about the days coming in so fast. It never hits us but as the days pass by, we take it like a droplet that drips.. ultimately filling up the bucket. I guess thats how i differentiate an optimist and a pessimist.
It was another lazy sunny afternoon today. The rain did not show its presence anywhere around the atmosphere. Sometimes I am grateful that I have a window besides my work place. I see my colleagues stuffed in a corner and thats when the realization dawns. Its been a drag at the workplace lately. I feel like I am slowly turning myself into a vegetable. All the energy... slowly seeping back into the body.
"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.
Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say."