There's a lot of chocolate in the story of my life.
I paid the tana-rickshawalla extra because I told him, "Dada, ojon [only, I said 'ozun' because I couldn't remember 'wazan' or whatever the Hindi for weight is] jasti hai?" and he laughed,"aarey .. heh heh heh," and I was glad for the evasion. Also, he was very old, and didn't drop me once, like he promised he wouldn't.
New Market in this pre-pujo rush? NO. DON'T. Except that molesting shoe-shop person is too busy for his tricks, which is a good thing. While a million people crammed Shreeram Arcade looking for just the popular sort of tacky, I hid in a bookshop. Oh, and some Hindi, wouldn't you say?
I heart Anokhi. Hideously expensive clothes, but they play to the large woman's sentiments. I bought pants that were a size medium. I am NOT a size medium. Any more. Ah, pity.
I was told I'm "touchy" about my weight. I am not "touchy" about my weight. Merely aware.
This blogpost? It's called commitment. Because there are plenty of things I have given up on, and every other day I'm this close to giving up on this, but then I tell myself, no. I can do this. Look at me, such willpower. Such fucking strength of character. It's easy to forget something you have no use for any more. I will fucking prove that theory wrong.
Not that I'm stubborn or anything. Nono.
Look, I'm not whining, OK? Go away.
The mirror is such a cliche. I look into the mirror and the woman who stares back at me has no mouth and red eyes. Ok sofine, that's the conjunctivitis.
Wot ev ver, bad joke. Bad cliche. Boo.
Walking bothers me these days. I'm always afraid I'm going to fall. It's not a weight thing at all.
Khub exasperating, Ma Kali bolchhi.
I'd love to tell the story like it happened, but you never can, can you? Reality is just so .. very ... layered? Mottled? Both.
I'm going through that phase - the wotthefuck-wherethefuck-howthefuck.
I'm so glad for fuck. Releases me.
Lissen you pervs, that wasn't a sexual innuendo.
In college they're playing a corridor cricket series. And I wake up dreaming of jstor. Disconcerting, that.
There is an imagined future. Do you have one? What do you do when you know it shan't come true?
Look away. Sweep it under the carpet. Search for alternatives.
I will. It's been too long. I will.
OH!!! Listen!!!! Haleem at Aliyah! Dudes. Come eat with me. It is sexual satisfaction.
Now pretend I scratched out that last sentence because, my life? Totally not so lame.