And the voices in my head still carry on

Endless replays of music to drown out the dangerous drift of my thoughts. Pearl Jam being the current obsession, their new album Backspacer to be precise. The words seem to speak to me of life, as though they're only for me, as though I'm the only one who's meant to sing them out loud. In shuffle, a loop, a continuous circle of music wafting out from underneath the door of my bedroom, as if I will figure out the secret to life, the universe and everything by cracking the code supposed to be revealed through Eddie Vedder's voice. I can't remember the last time I've been so dependent on music for sanity.
I accept that I am self-obsessed. In another fit of desperation, I delved into my blog archives, dating back to August last year. Some nice, funny things were found that made me shake my head with a grin, almost wondering who the girl who wrote all that down was. The list of things that made me happy is stll true for the most part, but there is more, so much more detail that needs to be added. The music list needs more artistes included, for example, I left out a million of my favourites. The books list too, the ones that make me feel at peace. Another list is of the to-do kind, things I intended to follow up so that my life is in order. Out of 24, I realise that only three have been put into action. Two of them relate to blogging less and reading more, that has definitely been done. The third instruction that I have been true to simply says 'move on'. I assume it is do with a boy and a broken heart, though I don't remember the specifics right now. Nevertheless, that was done too.
Do all of you grit your teeth in irritation if anyone tries to make conversation with you as soon as you wake up, or is it just me and my increasingly antisocial being? All systems screwed. See, I reach home late from work, and as a result I sleep late. Even if I wake up at a decent hour, my brain doesn't begin working till much later, and so if you try to throw words at me I'll only feel like a confused extraterrestrial being subjected to strange sounds without understanding a syllable. And I will be all rude if you persist.
I wonder if you all have seen South Park? My state of mind and current existence is a mixture of Kenny and Tweek. That the end is always near is but inevtiable (Oh my god! They killed kenny! You bastards!), and while I get there, there's the nervous jumpiness (Aah! Too much pressure, man!). But even then, the giggling fits don't fit in. And yet they are there, a million a day, if laughter is good for your mind, body and soul, I should be the fittest person alive. Far from it, is the truth. I wonder if science can explain this.
The worrying now stretches deep into the subconscious mind as well. In dreams. Two nights ago, another one, the main themes which it revolved around were among the following: My car, the police, Liam Gallagher, Obama and his Nobel prize. And it all happened in Vasant Kunj, apparently. i was doing some strange kind of stunts in my car, and even after being given a warning by the police, I persisted. After a while, it so came to be that my car was flung inside a park, where it was all right, but to get it backk I would have to pass the policemen who would no doubt take it away. While trying to think of a solution, my friends and I went to Liam for help. He promised he would, and the weird thing is, he was living in a really shady house. So anyway after lunch, we went to Obama's victory party where the celebrations were numerous, but all I felt like doing was sitting in a corner, thinking about my poor car. The other details are hazy, but involved a lot of fretting, I'm sure. Thankfully, I woke up and realised all was ok. Whew.
When will offices listen to my suggestion and have vending machines that dispense alcohol? Apart from increasing prodictivity, there will be many more giggly, tipsy people around.
Oh, this whole post should have subheads, but as testimony to the confusion in my mind, I will let the jumble remain.