Riiight. So I must be evil or Jesus Christ or something. Because nothing explains this suffering, and I don't bloody care who I'm redeeming, 'cuz this sucks. Do you know where I'm supposed to be right now? In Sikkim, on my honeymoon, 8000 ft above ground, in a little hamlet called Ravangla, dancing with the clouds and my one true love. Instead, where am I? At home with viral fever, coughing blood and arrrrrghhhhhhh. Writing a blogpost. *aaaaaaaaaaaargggh*
Oh yea, while we're doing updates, I'm married. It's a surprisingly short story. Don't congratulate me yet. I've clearly not taken well to the change in social circumstances. Anyway, our parents don't know yet. Likely never will. Not mine, at least. [Trust me, it's not a very big deal. Hey P, uhm ... lover bunchie wunchie ... type. Don't fall off a cliff!].
I've had a headache ever since I can remember, so I'll probably just do this in tabular form. If none of this makes sense, you'll know I'm still same ol' me.
First off, it's raining and you know the regular smell of rain-fresh earth? Yea, what I'm smelling is freshly-baked pizza bread, complete with toppings - herbs, the oregano, the anchovies. What the hell? My ..... ok, I want to say nosebuds, but I know that's wrong .. the smelling things .. are all haywire. I'm on too much medication. Fruit juice tastes like water, water tastes like the sea. I'm not making any of this up. Ok, i'm not making most of this up.
Right, in point form. My life and how regally it sucks.
* I caught the viral fever the day before we were scheduled to leave for Sikkim. My aunt said I got it from her mother-in-law, who passed away on Friday night, having lived 82 glorious years, partying wildly and praying fanatically in equal measure. She was very generous too and much of what I insist is my puppy fat is all that chocolate and cheese she fed me as a child. God bless her soul. So, here I was,shivering me timbers and wondering why the rum was gone, and my beloved mother was on the phone with my aunt, taking instructions as to the shape and design of just the right sort of leaden key that keeps recently belated grandmotherly types from having you join them in their heavenly abode.
And you know what's spooky? Everytime I had the key under my pillow, the fever was slightly under control, if you call veering between 101 and 103 under control. This one time the key slid away without any of us noticing, and the fever shot up to 105! I realised later that the key wasn't under the pillow, but for that period of time I really thought I was a goner.
And clearly there were forces conspiring against letting me go on vacation, because at 10:20 last night? Which was about 20 minutes past the train had left Sealdah station with half of my honeymoon and many of my friends? What do you know, the fever was gone! I mean, 99 is nothing. NOTHING i tell ya.
This sucks. They're sending me weepy smses and calling me pissdrunk from the hills. But that doesn't help. Primarily cause the network's a bitch. (:-[)
* Ok, what else has been happening, now that I don't want to talk about my stupid fever, and this stupid jinx that I have on me, which will never ever let me go to Sikkim, like, twice in a row. Oh, I fell asleep in the gym the other day. Was woken up by the instructor barely 10 minutes into it. Pity.
So yea, I'm bringing sexy back, alright.
* Why am I on a mad linking spree? Because my friend Joy, and I swear to God I want to link his webpage and a thousand other things that googling him has brought up, but I know he'd blow my brains out if he ever found out, or at the very least make my computer grow wings and do the birdie dance -so anyway, my friend Joy, taking into consideration my abject state of unemployment, suggests I should blog on topics that will bring more people to my blog. And then I could approach corporates to place their ads here and make money while I teach you a thing or two about Justin Timberlake or Raspberry Lip Balm.
So am I going about this the right way? Is this just the beginning of a million bucks and a private island? You bet not.
* Speaking of jobs, I had a job interview some days ago, and when asked about the kinds of books I enjoy reading in Bangla, I meantioned, not a Mahasweta Debi, or even a Sarat Chandra or a Bankim or most commonly, a Tagore, but, Teni Da.
No they haven't called yet and you needn't rub it in.
I will now pop pills with not a care in the world, and then proceed to watch some good ol' Monty Python. Screw the links.