Today. And June.

Hello Zonk. I was at Pop Tate's yesterday, and it was Ladies Night, which meant all females got a glass of wine and a rose free with their meals. The wine tasted like grape juice with too much sugar and a bit of mint, and the rose was painfully dry and about as large as my fingernail, but what do you care when it comes free and unasked for? I know all about marketing strategies and tricking consumers and all of that, but somewhere I believe that among all the people who sat around the table discussing the Pop Tate's menu and specials, there must have been at least one who thought simply in terms of making someone happy. And it does make me happy, when I go out for dinner and the waiter gives me wine and a rose. It's nice to be appreciated for no reason sometimes, but for being female. Or getting more than you asked for because you walked in during happy hours or went out on a date on candle-lit dinner night. A day is a long stretch of time, Zonk, and plenty can go wrong in twenty-four hours. Imagine then if a random decision took you to a place where someone gives you something for nothing. Because it happens to be a Tuesday. Because it is their job. And think how that might make up for a small sadness or two..

It's like thinking you ought to save up to buy a book and then having someone gift it to you instead. Or like whiskey that should have cost a whole lot more. Or time you should have spent working that you feel happy to have wasted, and not a trace of guilt in sight. Or rain, when it just begins. It's like making a breakfast plan and waking up too late and then staying out for lunch and tea and never wanting to go home..
It's June again, Zonk.. and I feel nostalgic every morning and sad sometimes. I miss the woods all green and grey and the quad slick with rain and mochachinos in the morning. And having somewhere to go to everyday. But it's pretty weather :)

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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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