What makes you tired?

There is something very wrong about this write-thing here. I had read a word for informal articles..but can't recall. That's ironic because the whole point of writing all this kitsch is to help me recall, remember why my days are not non existent as they seem to be. 23rd March - 65 or more years ago bhagat singh got hanged so that i could sit here, typing away. Aww I am not getting patriotic here am I?

I don't know. I couldn't love my country i hate all the people, everyone including myself. As if i got the essence of abomination into me. I feel angry over nothing at all. I felt angry when dad was picking on me. I felt angry when **** expressed her desire to sit for cat. And i felt angry at myself for feeling angry. This is so Peter Keating.

Dad's fault was that he mouthed what i already know. I am worthless. That enraged me. And i answered back. Remorselessness- my only defence. I am grateful to him for things too many to mention, but i answered him back. And i stole files- i stole stupid, worthless practical files from our college lab because they were throwing it away anyway. I stole stupid five-rupees-each files because that was supposed to be fun. I don't know whether i have had any fun in my life anymore. And i use slang- i know what they mean and i use them. I have forgotten that word for informal articles but i remember all those worthless slangs. I am not good enough to crack the common aptitude test. Everyday a new pimple erupts from some blasted pore of my face and my bag feels heavy on my shoulders. So all this makes me tired. And that brings me back to what's so very wrong with this article- it begins with a question about you. But that makes anarrogant assumption that you are actually reading this. Another mistake is that the article ain't about you at all. It talks about what tires me out. A grave error indeed. But i have an excuse. I am tired ;-)

I should have ended this here and clicked on publish post. But i want to talk about trains. I don't exactly have anything in particular to say about them. I just felt like mentioning. I am so used to a train journey now- its almost as banal as brushing my teeth. The passengers, the hawkers, the beggars- none of them change much really. I get a seat mostly, sometimes i end up being not lucky. We sometimes stare at each other shamelessly, unapologetically, at others we pretend we are alone in the coach, sometimes we are happy enough to strike an overtly cheery pointless conversation and feel good about having communicated. So that's that. I wasnt bluffing when i said i was tired.