But then there’s the morning after – the hangover, the realization that I’m not quite as available as I thought I was the night before. and she’s gone and I’m haunted by yet another road not taken.
I have no idea how i get myself into fucked up situations, one could almost say i have a talent, but the truth of the matter is, every single time i start with best of intentions. As to how all this spirals into one giant fuckfest is beyond me or perhaps i walk right into these things.
The imaginary movie currently playing inside my head is called “Sex and India.” It is a story about a few people and their radical approach towards sex in modern hardly-free India. The kind of work that could get more criticism than applause. I disgust myself but I am not unhappy about that.
Im turning into a foulmouth. Im not even sure if im allowed to use that as a noun.
I suppose i should just get a new blog.