A regular irregularity

Theres a strange feeling in the air, a crowded hustle, yet sometimes it's quiet enough to hear the leaves rustle, life is hectic, yet ohh so lonely. I re-read "Ayn Rand" after ages and it seemed so different... in its own way so "indifferent" I don't know if I grasped the intricacies in totum, but I did manage to sigh ho-hum... I know I write wierd, but give me a break, I'm out of practice... with everything, I feel so low,but theres nothing to complain everthings good... and there are the polite "I'm fine thank you"s that seem to findtheir way out of my mouth...

But truth be told I'm a wastrel, a good for nothing lout, just a spoilt brat who loves to pout... 

I wish I could reform, but everytime I try, I get pushed back, and simply lack the courage to go further....

Its the 1st day of the 11th month II years before the 11th year of the millenium... so who cares

Aditya Saigal