Joy Of Missing Out

Dear Zonk,

Something major happened today and I’m not there to celebrate it. I would’ve gone, too, but things happened. And so, somehow, I’m in bed instead. With my laptop, and with you.

I swear I’d planned to tell you more. I really, truly did. But it’s almost 12 and I’ve slept only 6 hours a night all week and I’ve gone out a lot lately and walking around in Hamley’s makes my feet hurt at the end of the day and my back hurts a little bit too. So long story short – I reached Thane today and then discovered that things were happening in Andheri and I would have gone back to party but didn’t. Because of everything I told you just one sentence ago and also because I had things to do that didn’t get done until 11.30pm. And really, 11.30 is too late to go to Andheri.

And so, here I am.

I feel a bad about missing a big day. But I also feel a relieved about being in my own bed with my own pillows and my own sheets and the prospect of going to sleep 15 minutes from now for a full eight hours. Because I’m tired today and especially because I have a long, long day tomorrow.

Maybe I’m just old on the inside. But it exists, this phenomenon. And it’s called The Joy Of Missing Out.

Love always,
K.

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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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