I am muddled in the head...

It is yet another day, and no, I am not one to live life as if it were a dreary chore.
But I am muddled in the head...so much so, that I don't know what am I to do, whether I should speak to people, if I must do what I want or what I am expected to be doing.

My head is whirring with a thousand (perhaps that is an understatement of sorts) thoughts...about life, and death, and the futility of it all.
About relationships (of any kind and form), about work, about anything and everything that qualifies for 'anything' in this life. And then there is the 'next'...

Like the past two posts, this too goes live sans proof reading...my head and mind, both refuse their office.
If you are reading this, perhaps you understand or have been through such a phase yourselves. If you have not, you just might some day...i find myself ending up 'searching' for ways to cheer up on the WWW. My head is clouded, perhaps shrouded...I feel I am lost.

Here's to everything and anything that qualifies as a confounding factor in life, everyone and anyone who has ever been confounded ( more often than not) by life, death, and everything in between...

It is this whiz and whirr I hear,
It is not my mind, or head; It is just Fear;
I do not even know if it is so, for fears don't baseless-ly show.

I am shocked and shut,
Too tired to think, I say;
I am confused and confounded by Life, and Death, and everything in between,
Too numbed and muted by it, those and them; too lost in translation.

There is this uneasy gloom that o'erhangs,
As if there is something abrew...I am inert, to everything and everyone,
'Ere long, I hope it will melt away or is that making a wish too soon?

I feel this heaviness weigh me down,
I can feel it as I would an iron slab o'er me.
I lose a beat or two every now and then, and I also lose some peaceful sleep.

Quietened me all this has,
For I know not where to begin,
All my irrational acts I think,
Are a mechanism to just coax me to break this jinx.

Yet, here I am,
All confused and confounded;
Yet, here I am,
All the more dumb-founded.

As I pen this little piece, I hope it all ends,
As I share with you my thoughts,
I hope I don't turn insane;

I'm sighing and breathing heavily,
Yes, that I just did.
As long as , these tricks, just loosen the lid.
I wish to shed a tear or two,perhaps to make myself feel at ease.

This sense o'er-hanging my heart must be sent packing with haste,
I look forward to sunny days and not let this Life go waste;
Here's Hope and a prayer for peace to my mind,
All I know is that my Maker is rather kind;
He will tighten the hold only as much as I can bear,
For as they say, "If He has put you in it, He will see you're out of there!"

The Art Of Killing Time.

It is always an art. Yes, it is...for time is rather precious. More than that, and than the act of butchering something so very precious in nature, what is Time?
It is something which I read somewhere, a few people commoditize and yet others treat as a scarce resourse. We might choose to kill it or for that matter be forced to!
What is important here is not that we or you or I or someone 'kills' time. The question here, L&G, is, "how"?

Stories have been spun, journals (or not?!? ;) ) have been written, films have been scripted, songs have been sung, and words exchanged. All strive to answer or answer in their own capacity the unspoken, omnipresent and omnipotent question: how do we/i/you/kill time?!?
And then there is something called 'demographics'...I extrapolate it to the demographic alignment to time-wasting or killing tactic. Better read as, "time well spent is hardly time killed".

Recounting a few examples:
Children would read/play/talk/eat/sleep
Adults would talk/shot/cook/clean/read/...
The elderly would sleep/read/tell stories/listen to music/watch T.V/...
Your pet would snore/bug you/rub itself against the wall, your feet, the sofa/eat the other lesser mortals for fun, food, or game/...
The politicians would talk/talk/talk/do nothing the rest of the time/...
The sportsman would pose for a magazine/talk(after all he too is a human)/eat/shop/...
The teacher would study/read/share her share of howlers and good stories/...
To cut the long and dreary story short, each one of us 'kills' time in her own way.

Coming to the center of my world, I write/sit in a corner and think/stare blankly at the wall in front of me/sleep @ work/ walk/ drink plenty of tea and water to kill time. The beauty and art lies in the fact that how well can I (enough of putting 'you'! first) and you or we benefit from this act. How well can we 'hone' our skills whilst we utilise this 'bloody' (after all we are 'killing' time) opportunity.
More often than not, I resort to read or write...even sketch for that matter.
What do you do?