Confessions of a 20-something Drama King.

I guess this is going to be one of the first rants in this blog of mine. A rant in the truest sense of the word, because this one arises from a sheer case of....anger would be too strong a word, I guess the expression that comes close would be being at wit's end.

For those of you who belong to the category of the younger siblings, the black sheep might be a familiar term. Don't get me wrong, it rarely is the fault of the older sibling. It's just that us younger ones have the onerous task of living up to if not exceeding the bar set by our predecessors. In the case of yours truly, the bar is set to a level which while not beyond my reach - figuratively speaking, isn't in my easy grasp either (the reasons for which I choose not to delve into with extreme prejudice). Compare Arcturus and Antares. Ergo, I present myself to you, the black sheep, where every misfortune or every leap short of the goal is a direct function of asininity and personal ineptness, and is completely independent of any and all external variables.

Now, once christened with the aforementioned epithet - as unknowing as it may be; other adjectives quickly follow. The price of being a recluse, as I discovered is being labelled as an arrogant, high-strung, hard-to-please, pretentious freak of nature. The possibility that one might be socially challenged, isn't even on the cusp of a possibility of the possibility. I wonder though, if the fact that the conferrers of these adjectives are people supposedly closest to you is a consolation or not.

Black sheep also suffer from a terrible habit of always creating situations in which the arbiter is always presented with a situation in which the only possible perspective visible to the arbiters is that of the half empty glass, despite the sincerest effort of the said sheep.

The half empty glasses aren't as innocuous as they appear though. These glasses serve as vehicles in which the stolen thunder is carried away. Yes, the thunder from the poor, dear black sheep. Either by other "black sheep creators" as I call them, or by worshipers. By now you are thinking that I am missing a few marbles in my head, well that is the result of prolonged thunder thefts.

Blogs are probably the only media which can actually handle rants. Carbon based life forms get bored too soon, and aren't very tolerant of unending rants. Walls do a fine job too, as I was reminded when I read a very, very old mail I had written; but blogs do it better. Only a blog makes the whole rant sound a tad bit humorous in a dark vein, at least to the blogger...the blogee remains clueless.

I sign off with a bow to the Baa baa (am guessing that's its name), who managed to have the satisfactory amount of wool for three complete people, and immerse myself in the extremely mellifluous soprano of Maria Callas as she sings the Sull'aria from the Marriage of Figaro. Exquisite !