Adrift in September

If you asked me how I spent the Libran month, I have to confess; I was drifting. On a sofa. It is a facet of homes (parents' homes - not parental) that once there, dicipline is not exactly the watchword. And one prefers not watch the clock while aimlessly drifting room to room interspersed with pessimistic forages in the refrigerator. The modem has shut shop too, so you can't even digitalise immortal thoughts.

Anyway, just as all driftwood finds a coffee table, I too have found a table. An official one. One from whence I shall lord over inflated undergraduates and deflated post-graduates. Making them squirm with the slants of my eyebrows. This is also the place where I shall half-bake my nonsense before serving it to y'all. (Well done nonsense can cause heart-burn.)

Enjoy.

All this drifting made me forget my annual interview with i. on his birthday. However, let it be known that after 12 years he had a cake, gifts, party, and sundry riff-raff. Molls and dolls were sorely missed.