You can’t manufacture a miracle

I’m hoping that Robbie Williams was right with the rest of the lyrics to that song because I’m officially at a wall with this draft of my thesis and generally feeling sorry for myself for various reasons. Perhaps I really should go back to India, find a job, live at home, let me parents find me a husband, and so on. There could be worse things, I suppose. I’m not particularly doing so great here anyway (I believe the term is ‘kuppaikottufying’). This trip back home has actually made me miss it, instead of inspiring my usual feels of terror, inadequacy, and complete disconnect from everyone else around me. It wasn’t all roses either, but I could see myself living there, if I had to. Especially when DC welcomed me with sheets of ice on the road, iffy heating, and pistachios for dinner. What was I trying to prove again?

Uhh, I need my own Eleven Theses on Feurbach.

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