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Dear Diary,

Yesterday, I came across an old friend after a long time, and we talked for quite a while.

Now this friend of mine is into writing and literature big time. He writes, attends ghazal concerts and loves discussing great poets and writers with just anyone who'd listen. Although an engineer by profession like every other desi in the States, deep down he nurtures the dream of becoming a literary intellectual of some sort, either a poet or a writer.

So I asked him about his writing. Turns out he recently wrote a poem about Rejection. He recited it to me and I have to admit, it was beautiful. It talked about every form of rejection - personal, career-related, youth-related, every kind. It would speak to anyone on some level. Spoke to me on all the levels which got me a little concerned about myself. Anyway, it was extremely meaningful and touching.

Then the conversation turned to me. And I realized the most meaningful and touching thing I had done recently was taking out the trash when it was actually my roommate's turn. And honestly, I didn't do it to help her out. I did it because she is a lazy ass and the trash was stinking up the whole place. And even more honestly, I plan on asking her to take out the trash when it is my turn to do it. And I also plan to rub it in whenever I get the chance.

Failing to come up with anything else, I told him that I have started an online blog. He was intrigued.

"A blog? Really? About what?"
"My thoughts. They're deep."
"Yeah? Thoughts about what?"
"You know, things... and stuff."
"What kinds of things and stuff?"
"Well, there are too many."
"Uh-huh. What was the last thing you wrote about?"
(Pause)
"The smoke detector."

The jerk was laughing at me. Well, dear diary, he can laugh all he wants. While he came up with 12 lines on about 20 kinds of rejection in a month, I wrote four paragraphs in 10 minutes on one smoke detector. Beat that, huh!