Sunday

Bad days happen just out of the blue. Imagine you just came home in the evening, preparing dinner for Saturday night and suddenly the light goes out. First you think it’s a general power-cut but soon it dawns upon you that something is wrong in your flat only. Well, as an Indian you usually have this sixth sense when it comes to power-cut. You call your landlord and he rushes in with the electrician. After half an hour of probing and poking everywhere they discover there was a deadly short-circuit in your room. A small section of the wooden ceiling actually caught fire whilst you were in the kitchen marinating chicken.

I had plans for Sunday. I had plans to visit someone, then go buy a dress I had spotted yesterday; and then go watch Pari. Instead of that all day I was running to and fro with broom in one hand and spoon in the other. The electricians worked all day. They had to rewire the entire floor. When they left in the evening I was exhausted and covered in dust. But you know, OCD. I could actually die from panic if I left anything in mess. Sounds kind of ironic coming from a person whose life a big fucking mess but that’s what I am. So after cleaning the whole apartment, taking a shower and washing the dirty clothes when I sat on the bed with a glass of rum in my hand and Will & Grace on TV I was worn out. And yet at peace. My home was clean and organised again. Someone once said I was so feminist that I wouldn’t touch a broom. Sounds like one of those AIB roast jokes. Abish Mathews is so catholic that… If we were in some Agatha Christie novel I would have killed him with fire tongs by now and replaced them with golf club. Just saying.

While running around with broom and reading a book during short breaks I was cribbing inwardly that how my Sunday got ruined. Usually when I feel exhausted or hungry I become very cranky. My optimistic side hits the snooze button and I begin to see the flip side of everything. The past comes rushing back. Every single humiliation, hurt, bad words, neglect – they suddenly come so alive as if they only happened yesterday. I am an undying optimist (Read always on denial mode) so I really cannot bear my own mind feeding me such negative shit. You know it’s much more comforting to believe in miracle than thinking your ex was just a fucking piece of shit. But exhaustion can be a bitch. Add to it some good old PMS. I was meticulously cleaning every nooks and crannies of my room while dying inside for every single mistake I had made in my life. Even while taking shower the same old crippling fear (I wouldn’t tell you what it is.) seemed to be too stubborn to get washed away with shampoo. I was preparing myself for my weekly crying-myself-to-sleep night and then I sat on bed and realized something. Now I have a new switch board that comes with two plug points. You know what that means? It means that I can now watch TV while working (read online window shopping and blogging) on my laptop. I did a little dance. I swear it wasn't the rum effect. I hadn't even started drinking then.

Optimism. Let it never leave you even if the whole world has abandoned your sorry loser ass.