Typically I don’t bother to tweet out all of my sentence level tweet worthy thoughts. So conscious of my own self, my grammar and of the thought’s political reprimand — I mostly end up withdrawing from pressing that send button. But sometimes I also do manage to tweet out that single (usually drunk) thought which is then deleted upon sheer embarrassment the morning after.

Confronting my own thoughts on the page — see? i said confronting and not loving or like coming to meet or some other smothering romantic BS like that — is not the same story though. On the page, even as I hate or loathe or sense that I am getting carried away, I continue to write, to pour, to jot, scribble and gut out my words.

Like a private massacre. Who’s gonna see? No one’s there to judge. Most of the times, even I don’t go back to my journals.