Come, Abelard, for what hast thou to dread? Except linkspam....

I have a scalpel in my desk drawer, a relic from my junior high biology class. Most people don’t know it, but it’s one of my pet possessions. Small and a wee bit rusty, it’s still razor sharp, and has a duct tape covered handle.

Three times over the past month, I’ve reverently taken it out. Put it on my bed-side table and stared at it for long stretches. Once through the entire night. Wondering what it would be like to run that shiny blade through the veins in my wrists. Or a slight nick on my carotid.

Stress does this to me sometimes. Not suicidal thoughts (this would be a first), but certainly random behavior. Including not posting regularly and putting on weight while food consumption goes down. The past month has been especially rough. The days grow hotter, the pile of pending files and memos grows higher and larger, and the bank balance shrinks in a maelstrom of overdue payments. Friends walk away pissed because I missed dinner/drink dates, missed engagements, missed weddings, missed baby-fucking-naming ceremonies. Yargh.

Love life? Oh, I used to love life. Right now, all I want to do is go at it with a riot shotgun.

Anyway, I’ve been MIA for a while, and thought I’d make up for my absence by putting up an EP (that’s Extended Play for the uninitiated) of a post, explaining my whereabouts.

I’ve been snowed under with work (as always).

I attended a couple of Upper-Class-Twit launch parties (a book launch and a theater company launch), which I thoroughly enjoyed, regardless of being a meddlesome interloper (“Oh, I thought you were in the movie biz. A lawyer? Ew!”)

Felt depressed as shit after watching what everyone thought was the movie of the year. Seriously, this movie can make anybody over the age of 26 feel like an asshole. Watch it.

Also fell in love with one of the female leads in aforementioned movie. Woof. Not that any of these starlet-types would give poor Crow the time of day, but still. WOOF!!!

Met fellow bloggers Chandu and her Boy, over drinks and hunks of delicious meat. Moonshine, can I expect another invite? Soon?

Ran to the hills over Easter weekend for a small music fest. Frigid winds, a nine-cornered lake as a backdrop for the bands, and an audience that was too stuffed with either of food, beer or hash to do little else besides sing along. Perfect little vacation, produced and directed by Happily Unmarried. OST by Parikrama, Ankur Tewari & The Ghalat Family, and Teddy Boy Kill. Go here for pictures.

Oh, and I appeared on a TV talk show too. Was ‘invited’ to allegedly talk about blogging and invasion of privacy. Ended up ranting for a couple of minutes on the need for TV channels to show good taste. Mildly entertaining.

Thanks to the very lovely Pigeon Pie, I spent a few nights trudging through Alexander Pope instead of this, this, and this, as I had originally planned to. Coo, you are an evil wench for making me read poetry. I do hope we meet in the near future so that I can spank your kundi. But only after you’ve handed over that bottle of becherovka you’ve been hiding.

In short, I’ve been a busy, stressed little pirate, and I will totally understand if this blog has been unceremoniously booted off your blogrolls. (Kidding. I won’t understand, actually. Wankers.)

But I do have a story to tell. Something from my past. Which you won’t read about it in this post, no. I still have shit to wade through before this miserable day ends.

Next post it’ll have to be. Wait for it.