Morning blues

Mornings fail to amuse me anymore, they just exist...
As I woke up without the irritating mobile alarm on my pillow a thought dented my upper half of the body...from a pounding headache to the corners of eyes which were wet and a mouth that was spechless the thought reached the little blue ticking clock that beats under constantly itching skin...and it pinned most here...

He said he would wake me up, he can't...
He said he would tell me everything, he didn't...
He said he would stay forever, he wouldn't!
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{incomplete

Time...its wierd! I wonder if the road ahead has a curve that takes me to my destination...

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Choices are half chance

A walk into the massive buidling is often questioned but seldom halted. Right opposite to the street where uncouth youth rarely wander and where elegantly dressed young men and women look through the windows of brightly lit cafes, stands one of the most influential media organisations of the world on the other side of the road...THE BBC...
I stop and I look at the guard from a distance, then look at my expensive rich coat that my sister sent as a birthday present last year.Hmmm..I wade across confidently looking on both sides of the road for traffic....there is a lot here everyday I think...
Move in and a huge mansion welcomes...two ladies behind a large desk right at the entry welcoming but busy, their names on the badges don't show...Contemplations....Mr K is convivial yet an air of non-believability whizzes past my head. Dad's distant friend he had generously responded to show me around the house - 'Bush House'.
First stop- cafeteria, ahhh....relief I respond to coffee like a whailing baby to mother's milk. Glee.
over the next half an hour I try my best to impress Mr K of my abilities and my strengths. Futile...He wanted to put an end to my father's persuasion somehere I belive. He was good no doubt, perhaps helpless...It's not how british media works...There ought be an order in haphazzerdness as well. Hopes at bay...
Coffee tastes bitter, it doesn't happen often but it does, in times of dissapointment.

Listen to...'Wasted I feel' on the way back home but contemplations continue long after the incident.
Today, no issue with Mr K, jolly good he seems, a bit cold but then its not his fault, thats how it is here in London...or is it universal something to do with media ogres...i mean media organisations?
Competition and hopes are deceptive and I tend to stray but I have some from myself and when the ruthless egos of people crush these I feel strangled. Simpler terms: my chance to earn a job in UK ended with "It is difficult to get a media job in this country" ...Why did I choose to come here and complete education...flickers...Choices are half chance....I took mine!!

Pringle mulls over a blog...

For someone so oddly emotional and un-receptive like me launching a blog for the public eye was rather difficult, but non-receptive behaviours have always been a challenge for my brain and I usually like to win...
Result...
A fake name (read identity) and specious creations on a phoney notebook. Undettered by challenges I will try to etch my name in the history of techno world!