Of something that changed

She was one of the first bloggers I started following when I discovered the world of blogs and Google Reader some, what, seven odd years ago? When I joined twitter a couple of years later, she was one of the first people I looked for and started following there as well.

She was - is - a few years older than me, and since I was still a student at the time, was fascinating to me as a single, working woman. She was independent, and confident, and sassy, and open about her life and relationships in a way I never saw myself being. She wrote beautifully, and I often found things on her blog that I had been thinking about only a few days previously, articulated and thought through in a way that seemed so perfect.

I never reached out to her in any way, beyond perhaps the odd comment on her blog, or a random exchange of tweets. But her thoughts, her writing - they continued to be favorites for a long time.

And then at some point, that changed. I started finding her posts a tad too much. There was bitterness creeping into them, her brand of feminism was becoming a bit too rigid for me, her standards were becoming a bit too high for them. Her accounts of relationships made me feel glad about my continued singlehood, her seemingly increased bitterness made me realise the mother might be right about me ending up a bitter and lonely spinster. She seemed to expect too much from the people around her, and was becoming a bit too caustic for my liking.

I'm not sure if this was true, or if it had always been there and I had just mellowed off-late. But at some point in the last month, I unfollowed her on Twitter. And it was easier than I expected. I still follow her blog, but I'm not how long that will last either.

I'm not sure what prompted a whole post about her. But it feels a little like a relationship - albeit one-sided - that suddenly changed and then soured. And it feels a bit sad.

A walking-talking disaster

I'm not quite sure what's going on, but I feel it needs sharing with the world at large. In the three weeks that I have been back in Amreeka, I have:

• burned my right arm fairly badly by reaching over my electric kettle to grab a tea bag just as it was letting out ridiculously hot steam. So I now have a ugly patch right in my line of vision.
• burned my left arm slightly by touching my hot non-stick pan by mistake (No Mother, I did not tell you about this because it was not very major. Teensy, really.).
• had my right foot stomped on by some twit at a party Friday night, so that now every time I wear my rubber Bata-lookalike slippers, it hurts.
• cut my finger this afternoon while carting trays of samosas to our school's Holi celebration. That foil was sharp, man - so much so that five hours later, the bleeding still hasn't stopped.
• jerked my knee minutes later and bent it a bit awkwardly. Now this, granted, happens to me quite often enough, but coming as soon after as it did, was a bit nerve-wracking.
• UPDATE: I have just discovered that being thrown into a pool of mud this afternoon has led to some big fat scratches on the right elbow, which have now started hurting. I am never playing Holi again.

A previous period on non-stop accidents has been documented here. Maybe this is something that I am meant to go through every time I move to the US.