Of Centipedes

After a little more than a year, I'm writing here again and I hate to admit that it was a centipede in my bathroom that catapulted me to the act. Strangely, I have been trying to defeat a virtual centipede too - but that one controls lightning - in a game called Ys: The Origin. I wonder if there is any ominous connection between the two myriapods.

The centipedes have caused me to think, or rather they have distilled my amorphous thought, that I have to make substantial changes in my life - myriad changes (as in myriapod!). Firstly, I must write more often - It is a shame that I haven't documented to understand better so many important events in the past year. Secondly, I must move out of this house quickly. And thirdly, I have to make changes in my social person.

I will jump to the third immediately. Lately, I have begun to painfully realise that my social skills aren't the best. Sure, I can be very charming in brief interactions but when it comes to prolonged exchange of words and social courtesies, I become a nervous wreck who just doesn't know what to say to people and wants simply to disappear. I fear that this is some kind of chronic disintegration of my social person due to some personal history - I need one of those 'life changing experiences' or complete amnesia.

I have begun to realise that this social handicap is proving to be a hindrance not only in my career (If only I could just get up with my brilliant ideas to the man and show him what I could do! I'd love to tell him that I think his ideas are crap and that I'm not always on Facebook doing insignificant work) but also in my relationships with my friends and any potential lovers. I realise that I should either learn to better my social skills or completely abandon them for the rest of my life and spend all my days hidden in a burrow. Although the latter does seem more attractive, I don't think that with today's population it would be a convenient choice. Firstly, I wouldn't be able to find such solitude and secondly, even if I did, they'd dig me up right back to the surface and I'd have to say 'Thank You' and other nice things and go back to leading a 'normal', 'happy' life.

Also my room is a mess, I have stopped caring about the way I look - in fact, I seem to have stopped caring about anything. I eat just about anything and sometimes nothing at all. I'm too inured to even complain. All I want is a long holiday, but I am too tired to make any preparations for the same.

I guess the centipede that appeared in my bathroom at 3.30 am in the morning is trying to tell me something. Of course I went death white when I saw it, and had to flush it down the toilet because I hate to hear the sound of cracking exoskeleton. But yes, I don't think it's healthy to willingly lock myself in my tiny apartment for 2 whole days without interacting with any living soul. I simply speak to myself -unknowingly at times - and save kingdoms and goddesses, slay dragons and shop swords and armors. Strangely, it isn't loneliness I fear as much as the outside world.