An all-nighter no more...or so I thought!!

Mugs of coffee and even cans of cola, supplemented by music loud enough to stir dead bodies. All of these, have always collectively failed against my ability to sleep in the face of tomorrow's examination. Insomnia, after all, was my mother's disease.

Walking around the house, making sounds similar to the noises made by the manacled ghost who came to visit Ebenezer Scrooge, my mother is the strongest ( and most unwilling) opponent that sleep has ever faced. Or maybe I should have written that in past tense. My mother in the typically cliched manner won the battle but lost the war. Sleep had new armor, sleeping pills, which took on a dual role, the one of weaponry as well.

But never did I think that she would pass on the baton. While my mother finally sleeps albeit fitfully, I stay awake not because another exam stares me in the eye. Hell, no! But because suddenly I seem to be left with no choice but to fight the losing war. When I should be achieving my REM sleep stage, I sit upright reading a crazed out author's rant about the perspective of a patient in coma. And if not that, then I am listening to music, which always seems to egg you on to be someone stupendously musically talented (rockstar, punk rocker...what is with the obsession, oh you lords of musictown? You sing. We can't.). Or I am sitting, staring at a computer monitor and a keyboard, wondering why I ramble at something inanimate and inane.

But then, what does one do when one cannot sleep? I guess some people update their status, others tweet. I...I just rant.

Apologies...but for what?

I know, I know. Who the hell cares about someone who blogs once in a decade? Probably, even the computer system operating this site would have forgotten the existence of this account, after sending out multiple reminders which harped about the validity expiration of this slice of heaven, where I can ramble to my heart's content, knowing that not a soul is going to be aware of my garbled verbal (fine, written) diarrhea.

After months of soliloquies, and days of staring into space, I have come to the conclusion, that intelligence, is well over-rated. Who needs it? Apparently no one. You do not need it to get a job. You definitely do not need it to pass exams. And well have you ever heard an intelligent conversation, much less been a part of it. Do not get me wrong. I am not talking about situations where people very wisely converse about the next Noble prize winner or the magnificent new invention which will force beauty queens to wish for something other than world peace. I am talking about normal everyday conversations, which could probably do with more grammatically correct language, new topics, and more importantly evidence of actual thought process. The idea just seems so refreshing.

A couple of days ago, I had another fit of no-lock-on-my-mouth-ia (it is an extremely serious disease with severe consequences, especially if you possess a functional brain). I happened to mention my apparently revolutionary thoughts to an acquaintance. Was I aware I was in for a volley? Let me think....No! I was well, a passive receptacle for an hour long discourse on how people like me with our huge superiority complexes made life miserable for normal people (who is normal?) and how our pseudo-intellectuality and deranged philosophies made people second guess themselves. I was also asked to well, apologise, for this fake intellectual stand I was taking.

So, here I am, apologising ( I can't help it, I was scared. I get nightmares about that day). I am just a little confused. I mean seriously, will President Obama have to apologise for calling a jackass, a jackass?

I rest my case.