I have fallen sick three times in past two months. Twice it
was fever and this time it’s a killer back pain. I can barely lean or bend. I am
sitting with three pillows and one quilt propped up behind me. Every time I am
trying to wiggle my ass there’s shooting pain down my spine leaving a whole
galaxy swirling in front of my eyes. I have a weird thing about myself. I enjoy
pain. I am sadomasochistic. Just two days back I was contemplating getting
another piercing. It’s been quite a while I felt really alive. There’s nothing
better than some good, old pain to make you realize that you are not dead yet. Sadomasochist
or not, I am going for few more piercings. This time I’m inspired by Scarlett Johansson.
Did you see her left ear?
Talking about galaxy, last night I went for an impromptu
drive around Darjeeling till Tiger hill. It was 8.30 at night, freezing cold on
hilltop. I stepped out of the car and looked above. I had never seen sky so
clear, so full of stars. So many stars. Some dead long back. Some on the verge
of annihilation. And I was standing beneath them. One minuscule, insignificant
sentient being. I had forgotten about my pain for a while. I cannot tell you
how much I love the hills. It’s a love of multiple lifetimes. The kind that
only grows stronger with every reincarnation.
I have a friend who whines about her douchebag husband
almost everyday and yet too pansy to take a stand. To be honest, I have never
approved of that union. Some people just don’t fit together. But being
supportive is the best duty of a friend and I follow that wholeheartedly. That's the thing about friendship I reckon, or love. You support them no matter what. Even though
I feel shit pissed at her at times. However, I don’t want people to think
that my advice is stemming out of some kind of repressed envy. To be honest, I have
gone beyond that state of envy. My mom flips out if I tell her about it. She
thinks my friend is discouraging me from getting hitched while she is enjoying
marital bliss. Well, I don’t need to hear other people’s grim story to feel
disgusted about relationship. My own experiences are more than enough.
I really wonder how some people manage to have spouse,
hectic job, household to take care of, time to travel, and a blog AND still get
time to read fifty books a year. HOW?? I mean here I am; having a govt.
job, no boyfriend nothing, no dog, no cat, and still struggling to finish one
book for past one month. It’s the fifth month of the year and I have
only finished four books till now for crying out loud. Not to mention I have a lot of hang-ups
regarding the genre of a book I am reading. I tend to hoard a lot of books but
barely feel the urge to sit and finish them. One thing is that I cannot
concentrate on something for too long. Secondly, after coming home at night I feel
so tired that I just deadass sit there like an Easter Island statue with some
series or movie (mostly Marvel) on my laptop.
Instead of getting agitated now I use deadpan sarcasm to
ward people (read men) off. There’s this Jain guy whose longtime objective is to come over to
my house and have some no strings attached hanky panky. First of all, I’m not
too fond of the Jain community of this town. Bloody hypocrite lot. Second of all,
I don’t give a fuck. So this morning when he asked if he could come over I answered
him that I was unwell due to back pain. When he asked how I had hurt my back my
instant answer was – marathon sex.
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