How I got cheated out of feeling Awesome.

There's a lot of things that make me feel awesome. Like finishing a project (rare; seeing as I must dilly-dally like a droopy daffodil over the beginning of each one) or cleaning out my closet *waits while you get Eminem out of your head* or buying new stationery or using it, or chips and chai after a grinding day or a grinding day with no long-distance ricks. Now that you can get what the term 'awesome' could imply, I feel awesome today. At least, I felt awesome today, right up till about seven minutes ago, but we'll come to that later.

Now, because you are a Careful Reader of Blogs, and because you are So Very Perceptive, you must have deduced that I either
  1. cleaned out my closet,
  2. finished a project
  3. bought new stationery
  4. used new stationery
  5. had chips and chai after a grinding day, or
  6. had a grinding day with no long-distance rick rides involved.
  7. OR used my uber-cool ability to Repeat. Everything. Twice. Muhahahha.
Well. The last of course works. But that's not why I was feeling awesome up till 7 minutes (and counting) ago. I could use a long round about way of eliminating options till only the right one is left. But truth is Zonk, I'm bored. Not in the mood for that. Nada. And so I'll just tell you: I had a grinding day with no long-distance rick rides involved. 
Which means I went all the way to Kandivali by ac bus, and came back the same way, though I could have easily taken a rick on my way back. Of course, it would have wiped me out financially..but well. I still could have. And so I felt awesome. But then I stopped feeling awesome, cos I realized that the chips I got to go with my chai were minty. Minty. Ugh. *shudders*
Fuck You Garden.

Read and post comments | Send to a friend


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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s