Saturday, 18 April 2015

Today.

I want to write about today. I will try to not be too verbose, as is my tendency. Mostly because I have no time, I have 19 assignments to look through and prep for an early morning. I need to get this out of my system.

See what I mean? I love being verbose, going into details that have no connection to what I am about to write down here.

I woke up ridiculously early of my own accord, suffocating. I realised the man had forgotten to keep a window open. I got up, drenched in my own perspiration. I could not go back to sleep for forty five minutes. I looked through Twitter and thumbed through Facebook. I thought about dad. I thought about calling mom (she is talking to me again, although on a need to converse basis - it's still an improvement) to tell her how I had woken with a fresh surge of sorrow over his death, fifteen years later, after being convinced that I was over his passing.

You never get over a loved one's passing. You just learn to cope with it.

I thought about dad. I thought about how I often felt that if he came back, I'd adjust badly to him. I am no longer an entity controlled by a parent and a parent's set of rules. And he'd adjust badly to who I have become. But today, I thought, what if he changed. What if, hanging pointlessly around in his spirit body had taught him a few things and what if he came back and he was awesome and loved who I had become, let mom be who she is now? What if?

Those are pointless "what ifs".

I will never know. I cried myself to sleep. I wept into the man's shoulder while he slept and decided to tell him it was perspiration - it was, after all, his fault I had woken up in the first place.

There is no peace. There is no justification. No conclusion that ties in the story nicely at the end. Nothing at all.

The man isn't keeping too well. It makes me very scared when he is unwell. I get crabby, angry, task masterish. Anybody else and I would care for them like a nurse if they were sick but if it's him, I lose my balance. I worry 24/7, it's like a niggling thing at the back of my mind and taints everything I do and think until he gets better. I took a huge decision to let him be at home and sleep it out while I went out to meet a few friends over lunch.

I didn't want to do it. But I knew it was precisely what I had to if I wanted the man to stop feeling bad about falling sick and keep myself from worrying in vain.

I met some very good friends. It was ridiculously hot. We had fun. I was supremely relieved to get home. I usually do public transport, jumping buses, trains, rickshaws - today, I just gave up and booked a cab and took a rik all the way back home. Paid 200 bucks for it, a fare I have never paid in my entire life for a rickshaw ride, but I was having a weird-horrid-good day. Anything could happen.

The icing on the horrid part of my day came in the evening, a few hours ago, when a pal and work associate called to talk about a project. During our conversation, said person hinted at how a project we were meant to be working on together never quite took off because apparently, "you are content staying at home". I was stumped. People do not know what I do and that is okay. I may be at home but I have the most insane work schedule a work from home person can ever have. I make money. I pay my own bills. I do not sit at home and vegetate. Even if I did, and I think its okay to vegetate, big deal...even if I did, it'd be nice if people checked their facts before taking that sort of tone. Hell, ask me if you cannot find out on your own, I will oblige very willingly.

I do not need to prove my productivity to anybody. I am what I am and I am proud of where I am because I got here on my own, nobody pulled strings for me. It just felt...wrong, coming from somebody who I considered a close pal.

I am exhausted.

I also took a whole branch of curry leaves from my plant just now, which is, by the way, growing like it's on some sort of illegal hormone. It felt horrid to pluck the branch. In the night, that too, while it's supposed to be fast asleep. I felt like I chopped off the limb of a sleeping baby.

I feel simultaneously silly and...that's it. Just thought I'd write it down, get it out of my system.

BTW, for whoever cares to know, I started writing on medium.com about fitness. It's a clean platform and I do not have to hassle about formats. I am glad Ramya introduced me to it.