I'm so out of ideas and the creative genious that usually bubbles over in my head :D Every idea and every enthusiasm and every shred of motivation I have ever possessed has been sucked dry. Dry as a bone. Dry as a bone in a dusty village road in Bihar, for good measure. I'm guessing it's the aliens that did that, I was not sure what they were doing mucking around with my head the last time I was abducted. I will have to bring this up next time I meet them.
So let's see, maybe today I'll pretend I'm famous. And write about stupid, mundane things and pretend people will still be interested in whatever nonsense I come up with. I will write about my typical weekend, I will invent imaginary lovers and illicit affairs, several of them - Dukes and Barons and Prime Ministers and members of the local Panchayat. Or maybe I'll just write about the type of men I find attractive (a man with scissors lodged in his temple and has a bat where the sun don't shine while he's on fire), and what color I paint my toes...
Hmm, what else? What else do celebrities do? Oh, yes, almost forgot - my sessions with my many therapists, how hot my psychiatrist is and my plans of seducing him. And the charities, don't forget the charities. And the trips to war-torn areas, and hold a hammer and cutely perspire (celebrities, I've been told, don't sweat like us common folks) in the sun while you help build schools, homes, or whatever is necessary for raggedy little kids in Kolkata.
I give up. This is, first of all, no fun. Second, I suck at it. Third, there are more than enough celebrities to do all that, I think a pretend-celeb is the last thing the world needs right now.
"True love is giving all you have to someone you know you're going to lose". Ray H Wall
I saw that today and thought it sounded very wise but I couldn't quite fathom its meaning. But I think I have true love. Or have had. Or felt. Or still feel. I'm pretty sure I have something to do with it, so I'm not altogether sucked dry. Bless those deft little alien hands.
I'm glad the weekend is over, it always gives you too much time to think. But this one wasn't bad, we celebrated our new fridge with a bottle of champagne. And we sat with our glasses and talked about our heartaches - an alcoholic parent, an over-controlling parent, the man you love but will never have, an indifferent step-parent....It's not going to take the pain away but I'm glad to be able to sit and talk, and my heart goes out to my friends, and my heart goes out to myself, and I hate it that there's so much pain and heartache and sorrow and general bitterness in this life.
And in the end, I think all everybody needs is to be loved a little better. I think that would just about solve everything.
And we cook, and we give up after everyone cuts themselves. See the extra bulky, very fashionable hanky on one of the hands? That actually required 3 stitches, I got lucky and just ended up with a bandaid. I also got rid (almost successfully) of my new fringes.
Undaunted by mortal wounds and also emboldened by the bubblies, somebody decides somebody wants to dance. So we get dressed and go out. We end up singing 'Sex Bomb' on karaoke. And 'I Will Survive' and I like it because I start believing it when I sing it. And what if the truth is far from it? My world is what I believe it to be. We swiped flowers from the lobby on our way back, which Op very nicely arranged in a wine glass -
Note how the carnations are not on the stalks, the stalks are bereft of flowers or leaves, while the flowers peacefully float directly on the water. Very artistic.
And we go home, and I step in my room to find somebody had left the fan on, which had blown my entire 149 sheets of Latin lessons all over the room. There were prepositions on my bed, verbs and conjunctions under it, it was a very grammatically incorrect mess. I was too tired so I slept with the papers strewn all over.
And yes, Latin. I am teaching myself Latin. I have attempted to learn Spanish and German, signed up for classes, both of which were complete failures. Mostly due to my failure to turn up for lessons. So now I've picked Latin so I can fail more impressively. 'I studied Latin but it was really tough and with work pressure and other social life-related pressure, I had to give it up' I'll say, and won't even be lying. It sounds snazzier than saying I quit my Spanish or German lessons.
And at work, I've always believed my friends to have a higher level of intellect than the average Indian. But sometimes they make me wonder. Passed on a news page about a shooting incident to Shirley, she was quiet for a while as she read, then she said 'four slugs removed? Wow!!!'. Quiet for a bit again. Then rather meekly 'What's a slug Jerusha?' 'A bullet' I said. 'Oh, so that's okay then' she said. I asked her why that was okay, it seemed she'd orginally thought doctors removed live, slimy, crawly slugs from the gun-shot patient's body!
Then on to Sohna - I go excitedly ping her with the news that "Woman loses 180 pounds! 180 pounds!!!" (Note all the exclamation marks) My friend's languid response? "I'm assumin tht's weight? not cash?" It's not like I would use exclamation marks for anything below a thousand pounds. Maybe one for 500 and above, and three exclamation marks would have to involve life-changing amounts.
And that's a day in the life of a non-famous person and her non-famous friends. Well, I think I covered more than a day, but they're all the same anyhow.