bullets bullets

- Interwebz, meri jaan. It’s a good day, it’s a windy day, it’s a day where I’m sort of slacking off and not feeling bad about it also. Do I say that too often now? Yesterday, I opened my first bottle of wine by myself. All it took was one youtube video and I was uncorking like a boss. Only to realize that there’s no way I can consume that much wine within three days and I have to somehow save it from the evil forces of oxidization. Then the internet told me to stick the bottle in the fridge (which seemed very wrong for red wine, but hey, what do I know?) I also happily discovered that I ought to be able to finish the bottle within a respectable period of time and enjoy its vast array of health benefits. Which I spent this morning googling.

- I have a new method of commuting. After my brief romance with driving and my slightly serious relationship with taxis and carpooling, I’ve moved on to the metro. The weather is perfect for long (by a crippled pygmy’s standards) walks and the accompanying mindlessness. The actual train ride makes me feel like a towering giant in a train-car full of tiny fillipino women. In a sea of perfectly straight haired women, the top of whose heads reach my breasts, I am a frizzy haired behemoth. I almost never get a seat but this doesn’t stop me from managing to read on my Kindle (which I love).

- I’m currently experiencing an acutely antisocial phase. Which I’m also enjoying substantially. I had plans with a friend who was supposed to come over yesterday and chill and get a drink (from my overflowing alcohol cabinet). While making these plans I knew there was a 90% chance I’d cancel, which I eventually did. It’s a similar story when it comes to my updating this blog. I don’t feel the need, not when I’m so perfectly content reading blogs instead. Part of me feels inarticulate and unable to string a coherent sentence together. I can’t remember if ramble-on-confusing-sentences-with-no-point-and-structure were always my style. Part of the charm and comfort of my Kindle is that I now spend time actually paying attention to sentence structure. Bullet points are still my crutch, but hey, at least I’m trying.

- Since you guys haven’t actually read all my abortive unposted entries, you probably don’t know the full extent of my whining about my inability to write anymore. But what the fuck is the deal? How the hell does it matter if I don’t, since most of my whining seems to be about the fact that I’m perfectly content not writing. Constant moaning and bitching aside, I seem to harbour some sort of strange fear that if I don’t document document document, my edges will become less defined, I’ll start losing molecules, I’ll curl up like a leaf. I have the world’s worst memory, where my actual memories seem to bear no relation to a sense of time. If you ask me when I think a certain thing happened I will not be able to give you an answer. I can’t seem to get a grip on time as a modular concept and years sure as hell don’t have defined boundaries in the old hat-rack.

- It’s so windy today! Yesterday, my bowls full of cat food and heated up milk (carried downstairs very slowly, carefully and lovingly) respectively were literally knocked over by a particularly vicious, extra strong gust of wind. My cats are almost all grown up. One’s recovering beautifully from what seemed to be two broken front legs, one’s gone all rapey, one’s taken to turning up less frequently and going off and doing her own thing. There are naturally new kittens, and my cycle of warping the feline ecological system of wherever I go continues. I feel like I shouldn’t be attached, or as attached, given the fact that I might be leaving them for a smaller, cheaper apartment located next to my new office. I’m mortally afraid of being the girl who continues to live in the expensive far away apartment because of the cats she feeds. I reason that I will find animals who need me wherever I go. It doesn’t help that I left for two weeks and returned to a cat with two broken front legs. Which improved dramatically (knock on wood) post regular feeding. I think eventually it all comes down to the feeling of having some one looking out for you. Kisses and someone to come find you when you disappear.

'There is an inordinate capacity in institutions, whether governments, universities, publishers, or studios, to turn pretty good wine, vintage or not, into distilled water that they hope everyone will want to drink. You have to hold out for the wine, even blood, nights that are actually dark, bears that aren't teddy, gritty women like you actually know, children who die contorted into question marks, the sun on people who never bought lotion, the human voice not reduced to prattle, animals who have never been watched, the man who cuts all the ropes so he won't hang himself.'

it's been too long, internet. my brother keeps (lovingly) hounding me to write, but i don't think he means this blog. i'm watching 5 swarthy but v sweet south indian men clean my apartment, following which i will leap into the shower and go buy me a kindle. i'm not sure which mall i'm supposed to be going to and i've already racked up a history of going a very long way in the wrong direction for simple things (a tagline for my life if there ever was one). so yes, i'm going to write. eventually. but first i'm going to try and read and see if my ADD hasn't got so pronounced that i haven't been permanently reduced to someone who constantly watches old tv shows and perpetually refreshes all of two web pages. i'm going to get my kindle and see if i can try a disconnected life for a bit. it sounds both sweet and scary.

it's all been building up for far too long. who am i to hold back?

Playful Mouse Murphy

It is a shame that I return to you like this. It has been a long long time and I’ve had a lot of free time on my hands. I don’t know if you’d call it ‘free’ since this quantum of time merely represents time not spent at work. There’s a lot of shit to do when you live alone, coupled with hours of self loathing for not doing any of it.

And now I’m going home in eight days and I’ve slipped completely and inexorably into my holiday mood. This is a light and happy time, as I’m preoccupied by things like thoughts of packing and gift buying. For the record, I’m not required to buy presents. I just feel like since it’s my first time going home after having moved I should take something for my family. Something exotic and middle easty like dates / a baby camel / shoes full of sand / an Aston Martin abandoned on the side of the road. Instead, I’ve bought shit like body butter (moringa, which is this really nice smelling flower), body wash (watermelon + eucalyptus, fig + rosemary, apricot + basil). I’m basically taking my family things that remind people of salad.

I think I was afraid of this happening and it has happened. I like living in Dubai. I don’t like it as much as home, naturally, but I like it. It’s peaceful, I’m settling into a routine, I have cats here who need me (or so I like to believe), I have a nice job that is not too stressful, with easy hours and a ridiculous salary. I like my bedroom, where I get to sit on my bed, next to my giant window which fills up the room with light. I like how its getting cold and I have to necessarily open the windows and the balcony door so I don’t have to live with my skin all goosebumpy. I like that I can wear anything and that I have to shop and feed myself. I really like my flat.

How is it supposed to work when you have someone reporting to you who is v sweet and sincere but who pisses you off endlessly? The constant puppy –eyes, the quiet yet very in your face ‘I’m working hard + being proactive’. It all makes me want to barf. Seriously, universe. Don’t hire me. I should go down on my tubby knees and thank the stars that I never had a boss like me. Do I get points for the fact that I don’t professionally don’t hold it against him? He just had a v good PD session. It’s just me who wants to smack him.

Now that I consider what I’ve written in light of the fact that I’m updating my blog only because my boss isn’t here and I’m frolicking in my holiday mode, I am filled with shame + regret. But I’ve implemented a no delete policy here on Step.Down. which will clearly come to be my undoing.

I have returned to this abortive entry hours later, full of soy milk macchiatos. I can practically hear the sloshing inside of me when I walk. My mind is mulch and my hair fabulous. I smoke too much (something I say now in every single entry) but Saul Bellow said ‘I think more die of heartbreak than radiation,’ which is something to think about. I seem to suffer from pointless, needless heartbreak, even when there appears to be none in my life. Give me time, I’ll also start churning out bitter, angry rambly poetry in my free time. And then we’ll all *REALLY* appreciate the no delete policy.

There are these moments when I’m made aware of my staggering lack of substance. I suppose it’s not fair to expect other people to share all sorts of meaningful insight given the situation. Speaking of lack of substance, are you guys watching Boardwalk Empire? Is the reason that men like the show so much because it’s so oedipal in nature? The commodore is the father Jimmy hates, but whose approval he so desperately needs. Nucky is the father Jimmy had and hates and wants to ‘vanquish.’ His mean dad is the father Nucky wants to prove his worth to. Nucky is the father the SUPER super cute new Irishman whose name I don’t remember wants to prove himself to and whose wife (therefore, his ‘mother’) he wants to eventually do. Nucky is the father Eli hates and wants to prove himself to. ALL THE GANGSTERS ARE THE FATHERS EVERYONE HATES AND WANTS TO PROVE THEMSELVES TO. The only cool fellow is Chalky White, who I suspect will get lynched :( Terrible poetry and CBSE brand armchair psychology is what the new policy gets you. I’m going to India and on my list of things I must return with are my warmer jackets, Chunky Chat Masala, channa masala, maggi masala and bags of Uncle Chips. As you can see, a lack of spice is one of the main problems of the middle east. Nasi goreng flavoured maggi is wrong and let your children eat chips in flavours other than salt, ridged + salt, salt + cheese and the godawful honey barbeque.

I weep for your children.

I weep for how bad the title of this post is :(

"It came to me that every time I lose a dog they take a piece of my heart with them. And every new dog who comes into my life gifts me with a piece of their heart. If I live long enough, all the components of my heart will be dog, and I will become as generous and loving as they are."
--Unknown

I am fresh out of things to say. I am deeply uninspired. Every day I check for tumours, because I can sense one lurking right below my skin. I am twenty five and weighed down by hidden tumours and visible malignancies. I exist only between books and cigarettes and half filled bottles of water.

I am slowly disappearing.

sometimes all i see is my horn in the way