Lately.

Dear Zonk,

Lately, I’ve thought long and hard about becoming stronger (physically). I’ve tried to cook a bit. I’ve worked a lot and I’ve accepted that I’ll be working a lot a lot now, for another three months at least. I’ve felt super-special about being a woman for the first time ever (apart from the time I got free wine). I’ve gotten a colouring book on account of I asked for it. I’ve coloured in it only once so far, but I’ll finish it, eventually.

I’ve organised one party where everyone was smashed, attended one where everyone was buzzed, and then one where people cooked and drank in moderation and we learned that it can be fun to not be hedonistic together.

I’ve eaten mushrooms, and I’ve liked them more than the potatoes that were on offer. This is a big deal.

I’ve spent hours reading up about fitness wearables, because I figured it’s time to update my Mi. I’ve set a low budget, stuck to it, ordered something, cancelled it, and then overshot said budget by over a 100%.

I’ve bought the world’s most perfect TV unit for very little money. Metal furniture is underrated. Wood is not the only option.

I’ve started a serious blog post about something that has sort of changed my life (for the better) and I’ve abandoned it.

I’ve read one beautiful book, one happysad book, paid for another that’s turning out to be a drag, and shortlisted a fourth that I’ll probably read instead.

I’ve not touched a guitar in weeks. This makes me temporarily sad. But I think I’ll tackle that part of life next week. Because tonight, I am satisfied.
(That’s saying a lot, mind you. Because a while ago, I was at the dentist’s.)

Goodnight, Zonk. You should go find my design team’s profile on Instagram tonight, because I’m going to be putting up a picture now that a friend took of the moon: and it’s beautiful.

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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