Sunday, May 23, 2004

the free-association ramble that was blogged because it could be. hoo hoo ha haaaaaa

On this yellow day- yellow literally, jaundice-coloured watered banana-peel yellow kind of day, everything is dusty and I wish I knew what to do with myself. I can’t read any of the glorious books on my bedside because of some stupid masochist streak of having to worship them for a while before I can actually get to reading them (damned affliction of getting! I wish I was more poised or whatever it is that gives you seamless adaptation to wonderful things). I can’t play my guitar because I haven’t cut my nails yet (my last bastion of femininity, my fingernails, and I have to chop ‘em off so I don’t twang. rrar. sometimes I think I’ll never be a real girl) and I spent the entire morning editing and proofreading a newsletter to the brink of tendonitis and hysterics (I’ve an insane perfectionist streak and am the pickiest language person to ever walk the earth to boot, so I read every word and fixed every little horrific maligning of the English language there was in the damn thing. yaarggh.). Kher. So after all that today is still yellow and I wish I didn’t keep on making myself so damned WEIRD to figure out all the time! What if I read The Bell Jar and identify too much with it? Then I’d really be cuckoo and oh dear. I don’t even write enough or at the level to be justified doing whatever the hell I want. I think I should stop being self-deprecating also. But still. Today is yellow and I just don’t feel right. As if I should be the wind, not the lump of protoplasm inside a brick box. Or a leaf, swirling and whirling and flying outside instead of tiptoeing barefoot in the dust because walking on a dusty floor is a nasty crunchy kind of unreal feeling. As if it were floor oxide (and that particular gem comes from a conversation my metallurgist Abbu and I were having in the morning about storing aluminum blocks in the open). Ick. Dust is yellow. I wonder what Ayesha’s doing at this exact moment. I miss her because I don’t see her as much as I’d like to. Sigh. Everyone I love should live near me so I could just cycle over and fill up my them-quota of the day in a jiffy. I shouldn’t need people that much I’m thinking. It just doesn’t do. The last time I went swimming I was singing ‘Dobara Phir Se’ in the shower and after the chorus (which is so deliciously gung-ho and spirited that it just makes me want to sparkle) Amma’s primmest, most Victorian voice floats over the top of the cubicle door- ‘aisey gaaney gaana larkion ko zeb nahien deta’. So after a brief spell of ‘who are you and what have you done to my mother?’ variety ki shocked silence I laughed my indigo denimed ass off (‘it’s not that funny’) all the way to the car, slapping my sodden flip-flops on the beige patthar walkway for emphasis. It was just really funny...who says a girl can’t ask a boy to ‘chadd saarey khere hun tu chalni merey naal’? I like it. You’re mine now, let’s go. Rrar. Of course boy’d prolly be too scandalised to really go anywhere so I suppose one must be properly prissy and wait to be taken anywhere. How dismal. Why do wrappers on mini chocolates say ‘miniature’? Do they think we wouldn’t have guessed otherwise? it's like living in the middle of the ocean, with no future, no past...what a really good song…the Bounce soundtrack had some exceptionally dasti songs on it. I wish something really truly special would happen. And happen soon. I wish I was going to climb a mountain too, I could do with some stomping around in the ice with a few kilograms of heavy shit strapped to my back.

tra la la la la la LA (the psycho girl-kid in two stupid dogs style, fully full)

hee hee i do quite love y'all

*blows kisses at all and sundry*

we all are livin' in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine

i do it 'cause i want to
we owe each other the world
i do it for the joy it brings
'cause i am a joyful girl

*blaat*

Mina at 4:20 PM

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