This post is all whine and some crackers.
I'm having such a bad hair day, I'd say my hair is having a bad me day.
I've been working for what feels like Mandela's stint on Robin Island and my only entertainment in forever has been getting up to go pee.
I have not left the house in 7 days.
I've been sick - as in, body being attacked by germs kind of sick. Or so I tell myself as I pop another pill while searching for an excuse not to bathe - offered to one of the many disinterested parties that inhabit my life. It's the kind of cloying season-change illness that has your skull feeling like it's trapped in a Phantom of the Opera mask with his singing voice echoing in your ears, even though you never bought a ticket to the show and frankly think that Andrew Lloyd Webber's finest ouevre was Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja.
I have seen the entire second season of Girls in a single sitting and am now riddled with dreams of disembodied boobs playing table tennis (Wilson's, not Dunham's.). It's not entirely unpleasant and it sure beats that recurring dream of P. Chidambaram in his Don't-Call-It-A-Lungi-Or-The-Tamilian-Mafia-Will-Come-After-You.
In other news the Anti-Rape bill was passed in the Parliament. The news was received amidst lamentations & recriminations that Rahul Gandhi was absent for the vote (along with a sizeable chunk of the legislature. I think the only people who stayed to vote were the folks who fell asleep in the previous session and woke up in the middle of this one).
I've been trying hard to decide my feelings about all of this and have been in hiding from the droves of reporters, banging on my door, anxious to know my special thoughts.
On one hand, I'm relieved that something got passed - like a kidney stone.
On the other hand, I wonder if this anorexic version of the Justice Verma Committee report will make it difficult for anyone pushing for anything better - like constipation.
Every single day I get closer to menopause.
I read an essay by Frederick Douglass and saw 'Gone With The Wind' in the same day, which is an adventure sport I would recommend to anyone serious about understanding the 'Dalit Sich'.
Meanwhile, Chetan Bhagat managed to con another group of earnest filmmakers into elevating his book from toilet paper to That Film Where That Hot Guy Shouldn't Have Died.
These are the moments when I wonder why I'm putting any effort into this existence. Then I remember I haven't bathed again today and feel better about it all.
Besides, as Scarlett O Hara said: "Tomorrow is another day (and if the DMK is still in the news you can laugh at Delhi-based news anchors trying to pronounce Alagiri and Kanimozhi)."
|Eiiiiiii. I said - Eiiiiiiii|