My Green Pajamas

*stretches*

Wednesday, The Sixth of January Two Thousand Ten
Mood: Lazy 
Type of Lazy: Blinking Smiling Lazy, but Lazy With A Purpose
Purpose: Make a Post, Not Use Numbers At All, Capitalize EVERYTHING
Goodmorning Zonk, its been not-enough-sleep and I still feel fresh as a flower wrapped in plastic in a vase full of fridge water in Russia. What can I say, this little system is designed for efficiency looks like. Tiny input, massive output. Six hours of sleep and one cup of Chilly Chow noodles and I'm set. Geared up. Good to go. Vroom. 
Of course, I did have coffee and bread and butter today, but that doesn't count on account of I say so. Besides, the coffee is starting to suck on an alarmingly regular basis now. Which is really cause for concern. At this point, Zonk, I'd like you to sit back and focus on what I'm going to say now, because this point deserves a linger. I love coffee. I make bad coffee. I do make good tea though but that is not the point here now is it. I have only one coffee a day, in the morning, that my mom makes me. Up until a month or so ago, that  coffee sometimes sucked, and sometimes rocked. Now, it always sucks. 
*waits while gravity of situation sinks into reader's perceptive mind*
One coffee a day, only one coffee a day, it can shatter you when your only coffee sucks everyday. If things don't get better soon I'll have to do the unthinkable and learn to make my own coffee. 
(Aside to Universe: Why Universe, Why? Why make someone a kickass fancy cook and make plain old coffee her waterloo when you know how important coffee is? I would continue in this vein but I shudder to see all these question marks I've lined up in a row. I hate question marks in blogposts. Not as much as exclamation points but I do have some standards.)
And now, for the final point of this post.
My Green Pajamas
You wouldn't guess it if you met me but I'm a Pajama Person. What's a Pajama Person you ask? Well I'm glad you did. Opens up a whole new area of discussion that I'll take up in tomorrow's post. Let me make a mental note of that *makes a mental note of that* aaand done. Thank you. 
Coming back to my Green Pajamas. These are veteran pjs. My first ever pair bought more than 4 years ago. Approximately Three Hundred and Forty bucks, Fabindia, dark green with red and yellowish green..flowers? lotuses? I'm not too sure..Anyway, my first ever and most favourite pajamas these. The type of pajamas that featured in my fantasies of the future of when I'm twenty-five and doing something awesome and pajama-ie (but I'm never too sure what exactly). Important thing being, the future me would always be slightly fatter and wearing the same dark green pajamas with red lotuses. That's the kind of pajama love I'm talking about. I have about six pairs now and these are still my favourite. Which is why I am so dismayed when I think of how I've been wearing my now-not-so-dark green pajamas with red lotuses at home for the past three days or so. Why the hell would I make it home clothes? I ask myself that too, Zonk, and ah cruel world, it is only because I have no option. Check this out-
The Lesser Pajamas: 
the dyed black ones: LOST
the nice white and black ones: NO ELASTIC
the old brown ones: NO ELASTIC
the new black ones: TOO NEW TO WEAR AT HOME
the new green ones: TOO NEW TO WEAR AT HOME
the home pink ones, the home blue ones: WEAR THEM THE REST OF THE WEEK
the home green striped ones: GIANT
See? I have no other pajamas. And its too cold for shorts. And if I had money to begin with I wouldn't blow it on buying home clothes you dumbass. 
And so it is that my creme-de-la-creme pajamas are being insulted by home use. 
Ah.
Ah.
And now I'll be gone.  
   
Goodbye.

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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