Once upon a time I was a cookie

Now I’m just sticking to the ends of the baking tray, hoping someone will scrape me out and relish every bit of the last, gooey, gummy remnants of a snack.

I’m stuck in a warped zone.
And I live in a world where carrying your pen-drive is more important than your precious hand sanitizer. You see, you never know when you have to upload, download, save, delete or show your work. At least the work in progress.

The other night I had an un-dream. I dreamt about long hair, and little girls and teenage boys and what interesting things and situations they might find themselves in. And these were 30 second dreams. Just the length of an average TV commercial.

I did wake up between the commercial breaks to slide open my phone, so I could get a little light and jot down these ideas on my brown paper-ed notebook. Because we all know you don’t remember your dreams in the morning. And which cubicle will I move to by year-end and how more tax I shall pay by June and other such trivial matter is all dependent on these dreams. And their ability to sell more shampoo and clog more drains with falling hair due to the detergent content in them. I know, this doesn’t say much about me, except probably the fact that I could be turning into an obsessive loser workaholic.

I also tucked in some tandoori chicken with blanket nerve in the bylanes of the city, late in the night, and talked for a couple of hours. And most part of the conversation was about places we’ve visited and how those roads were ideal for this and that. We were doing a recee in the middle of nowhere, and for no apparent reason. And we both remembered a trip we took together a long time ago, to Goa. Where most of our days were spent smoking up in tiny pockets of beaches, hidden from the world, lapping up the waves as we lay down at the edge of the beach where the sands seemingly end and the waves wash in. And we confessed to each other, for the first time, at that exact point, none of thought of romance, love and all the fluff. I saw beautiful cinematography there. So did he.

My ipod no longer belongs to me. Its used for the greater good of mankind. Its loaded with reference tracks for potential background score for potential above mentioned commercials. So I could just plug in the ipod in client meetings to tell them what exactly I have in mind.
I do not mind.
Because I actually enjoy this bubble warp. It allows me to cut out the supposedly big things in life that I should be worried about. Like lack of money to pay those taxes. Unsettlingness. Wardrobe Nothingness. The lack of a relationship. And my lack of wanting to do anything about it. But what does make me sad is the future. Exactly how long is this time warp going to last? After that, what?