Okay you know what?

I'm selfish. I want things - all to me, and I hate it when I don't get them. Sometimes I'm manipulative, in the process.

Eventually, I even get bored of the exact same "things" I would've done anything for, a while ago. (For example - given my way, I would keep all my ex-boyfriends, who I dumped, in my pocket.)

I'm also greedy; I want everything. I want to eat all the food I possibly can, I want those shoes NOW, I want to date 4 men at once, I want to eat the entire box of ferrero rocher.

I judge. I put people in social and economic cliques, and I typecast them.

I lie. I compulsively lie to make myself sound better, to make somebody else happy, to escape a situation (in that order)

Sometimes, I'm NOT a friend, and NOT a girlfriend (I don't even think I am meant for a loyal, committed relationship, not until I can grow up, really - and I can mistakenly let out a friend's secrets I wasn't supposed to reveal)

I'm paranoid. If there's something bothering me, I will harp on it, whine, crib and wail until I don't get distracted or it isn't solved. Usually, it's the former.

I get distracted very easily. I might cut you short when you're making a point, I might pretend to listen to you intently and not give a shit about what you're saying.

I pretend. I pretend, make believe and cook up stories for entertainment, drama and sometimes just because.

I'm negative. Not only is my glass always empty, I don't think I've ever liked how the glass looked.

I'm critical - I might never approve or like something once I am set against it.

I'm also extremely easy - I don't think anyone's had to convince me much. I'm stubborn, and I have a low self esteem. SO If I feel fat today - you can turn the world around and I will still continue to feel so.

I'm vain. SO even though I'm fat, my skin is blotchy and my hair is sometimes too thin/ sometimes too frizzy - I still think I'm gorgeous. Sometimes.

Tomorrow, the smallest thing you say about.. say, my zit, will make me cry. And day after, you could be going through a health crisis and if I'm lazy, I might not want to help.

I'm lazy. I might not eat dinner if I don't feel up to getting up.

I think I'm retarded.

I think I've had a lovely little overdose of organ-radiochatter-jazz melodies. The kind of overdose that's not really too much, but a little above how much you thought you wanted, and just the right amount for your mis-calculative brain.

I'm 23. I want to do things, and this little overdose has me ashamed about having no headway.

I want to open a performing arts production, run a film magazine, be a part of a fusion band, travel to Spain, South of Paris, Vienna with a half-stranger, half acquaintance, get a few short stories published, teach, live in pondicherry and open a bakery.

Right now it all seems impossible. Like I'll be stuck as a face behind a laptop, writing down my fictional experiences of life, with the power I have over words. Right now, I only have these letters. They can spell out hope, rape, shahrukh khan and beauty for me exactly at points when I need it.

Yum, muffin.