I've been addicted to a lot of things in my life.
And this one may not damage my liver, cause lung cancer or leave permanent scars, but it may also be the most difficult one to shake.
It is, of course, blogging.
I miss my daily rantings. S and I are having four (COUNT 'EM! 1, 2, 3, 4!) newspapers delivered every morning, and the absurdity of the Indian news is majestic -- but I can't mock Times of India or make astute comments about The Indian Express because I have no internet connection at home and I don't particularly want to walk around with a tree's worth of newsprint under my arm as I make my way to the Def Col internet cafe.
I want to bitch about our new maid.
I want to piss and moan about money issues.
I want catharsis through touch typing.
Hell. I need a better fix.