Good things to report. Firstly, my very first thank god it’s Thursday. It’s quarter to 4 and I can’t wait for the weekend to start. These two hours and fifteen minutes need to go by really quickly. Secondly, I realized the purpose of the hot water switch outside my loo. Murphy the genius savant. Lastly, and I add this only to pander to certain sections, India reached the World Cup finals! Though , honestly, the India Pakistan match set me off on some sort of depressive spiral of self pity. I felt incredibly left out and far away and miserable and like I couldn’t talk to any one. Well I don’t think I would have been audible over the sounds of the crazed cheering and merry making for what it’s worth. I’m a loneliness rookie and I’m working on it.

This weekend promises exciting forays into adulthood such as my first load of laundry. What happens, internet, if I put my formal pants into the washer and drier? What happens if I wash them by hand and attempt only using the drier and accidentally set off the washer? What if they come out smelling funny? Watch this space for updates. I’m toying with the idea of actually cooking something. Y’know, other than eggs and salad. Or maybe I’ll just do nothing and vegetate and feel sorry for myself and order in Chinese food over and over. Maybe I’ll get around to catching up with my friends who were expecting long, detailed, updates and got a ‘all good. v tired. will mail soon’ mail. I’m charming like that.

What I really want to do is go buy sneakers and a swim cap and start utilizing all the fancy sports facilities my hotel has to offer. I can buy the cap. That’s not exactly a significant expense, right? (The danger in this case is the moment I walk into a store I start finding important things that I *really really* need. Like yesterday it took a lot of talking myself off the ledge to not end up going home with a kilo of green bananas. Hey. It was a co-op. They’re cheaper in bulk. And I like eating bananas at work, like I’m sort of daring people to watch with a straight face) And I have my converse sneakers with me anyway.

I miss my babies. I’m hopefully going to stop writing that in every blog post and thinking it constantly soon. I hope they’re not missing me and are chillaxing and being decadent. I miss Leonard Cohen and harbour deranged illusions of beginning to write beautiful poetry like him, to document my current loneliness. Which sets in only post 8 PM. I’ll write topically beautiful poetry and spend the rest of the time writing junk about arab bananas. Which are the same as Indian bananas, only strangely harder to peel.

I hate snotty women. Almost as much as drunk women. Who wants to visit me and buy me liquor at the duty free? Since I can’t ask my dad. Who wants my limitless undying love? RAISE YOUR HANDS.