My mind is a jumble of conversations as I have mental questions answer sessions with myself. I write as I commute to work. A strangers reaction to my door touching her car…The owner in her element resorting to a bully as she tries to show me an almost invisible white paint on her dirty blue car. I almost feel sorry for her that she is such a horrible person, sorry that she has to live with herself every day of her life. As I sit down for a dinner with friends, I make mental notes and limit questionnaires to myself. Why is it that technology beats conversation, ‘selfies’ are more interesting than the company? The present is lost in saving for the future. I recollect and edit on my way home. I edit as I listen not to listen. Maybe the bully was sick, maybe she has a abusive past or maybe she just had a bad day. I’ll know for sure if I get a call from her insurance company. Maybe the self obsessed is the lonely person within and the art of conversation is no longer an art. A sporadic moment, a sudden inspiration are all recorded. The unwritten manuscripts filed in random for the right time. I am a stalker. I have suddenly caught the ‘blog bug’ as wordpress features as a prominent short cut on my mobile screen. I stalk and read every blog that I can find, I make mental replies even as I go. They inspire and motivate to make a story of everyday nothingness. Like my fall. The beautiful chilly evening, the exciting half yearly sales and prospects of joyous shopping rudely shattered when I missed a step. In front of a major shopping centre. I would prefer to think no one saw me. Reflexes accelerated by embarrassment and taking advantage of the failing light and the heads bent over screens, I picked myself faster than spiderman or Rajnikant and walked quickly to a darker corner to limp and check my bruises and my ego. My newly colored hair matched my face- a highlight of reds! But right now as I bask in the perfect winter Sunday sun, stunning blue and a distant lawnmower, I fail to understand why is it that we attach so much of importance to ‘falling’. Is it associated with ‘ failing’? Both lead me to memory. My memory which is failing as I fall. I fall prey to actions that fade as I try to remember. I turn on the computer and I fail. I fail to remember what I meant to do. I face bursts of temporary memory loss. Sometimes with intent but mostly unintentionally. Insignificant stuffs I would like to think but a loss nevertheless. I continue to confuse my right with left and the number nine with six. The supposedly size 6 shoe that I was to return only to discover just in time that it was actually a nine. The confirmation also meant the shoe fit despite the six tries earlier. The jumble eases as it reorders words to express it’s desire. To be heard. Mental to the physical form. The heartbeat that is heard in silence, the stories written in the mind. The right time is still not right as nine is still a nine.