Damn. I'm Not A Ba-stard.

Song: Damned (Bon Jovi, These Days. Yes. Its out again.)
Cigarette Count: 6+.

Damnit. I lie in bed for an hr with the lights out and what do I think of? No. Not Jennifer Conelly. I think about Anne, about the seating arrangement during the sessionals, and a desperately made-up desperate situation in which I start panicking during some semester exam and can't think of anyone else I can trust enough to call for help and so I call Anne and she doesn't take my calls. And then I call SidK repeatedly till he picks up his phone and answers in a sleepy voice and I explain the situation to him. And then he calls Anne and explains things to her and then I get a message from her saying "Call." And then I tell her that I'm gonna be failing the exam and I desperately, desperately need her help and she reluctantly agrees. And then refuses my suggestion of her place in the morning, so we meet early the next morning at the exam centre and she helps me out. And then I give the exam, and still fail. Or maybe pass with a 50. Either way, I stay eternally grateful to her for being kind.
And now that I think about it, (damn it. why?) I realize that in a lot of these made-up situations, she's always someone I can depend upon. Could. Damn it. Again.

Song: Hearts Breaking Even.

Heres the main point at which I was gonna arrive. I feel like a fuckin idiot. It would have been so much better had I told her that I wanted to meet her once and explain things and really 'talk about it', talk about how I'm literally bound to myself and my non-commital attitude. And she was in such a crazy situation, and she probably couldn't even figure out what hit her. Things would have been so much better, and maybe she wouldn't have got that haircut and black nailpaint thing done. And I'd be able to look her in the eye. Once again, I lost myself the chance to explain why I'm not a vile bastard. I don't really call myself those things most of the times. But its what most of the solid evidence points to. What I think cannot really be counted as solid evidence can it? If I were to judge myself as a third person, that's probably what my verdict would be. And maybe some sympathy, just in case I had my own side of the story. But who wants sympathy? I don't. How long can I keep on justifying my actions with my thoughts? Fuckin' hell. Doomed. Thats what I am. I want those fucking chances. All those chances. All those times when " I hate 'lets talk about it' " got the better of me. I want to make all those decisions again. I want to call up GNidhi and apologise for the psychotic, virtual madness I created along with Sob Man. I want to call up Neha and explain why I'm not a stalker. I want to call up Nancy and tell her that I'm not a sex maniac. I want to call up Anne and tell her that I'm not a bastard and tell her again that she did not have a hand in the way things turned out. But most of all, I need to call myself. I need to convince myself, based on solid evidence, which does not include my thoughts, that I'm not a heartless bastard. Does anybody know a good pro bono lawyer?

" The first night I said I love you, you told me to go to hell.
You were giving me hell, on that creaky old bed at the O'Duval Motel. "
- Bitter Wine, These Days. (Bon Jovi.)

ps:- I promise, and I almost promise myself that I won't listen to this album again this month.