courtesy Google Image search --- http://www.netanimations.net/Animated_Relaxing_dog.gif
I attribute the hiatus in blogging activity to blogger’s block, no comments and being busy. And lazy. Now that that’s done, let us, ever so gently, move on to what I was doing when you were anxiously waiting for my next blog entry. (What? It’s possible!)
Significant things? Meh.
It rained like waterfalls gushing from the skies.
I finished another level of German. (and yes, cleared it. Very important to mention).
I rediscovered the inexplicable joy of an internet connection at home (the Pune home)
After months of living alone, my sis came to Pune and we stayed together. Fun.
Kinch finally left for a land far, far away. Sigh and sigh.
Donkeys, white, braying, kicking, killing-your-sleep-in-the-dead-of-the-night DONKEYS reside around the Pune house, as I recently discovered. Now don’t get me wrong, I think animals are adorable. But dude, have you ever heard a donkey bray? Its sad really. Like a trumpet being stamped upon crossed with a sore-throated elephant’s cry crossed with a peacock being tortured. And never having heard a donkey’s bray before, I was more than just puzzled when it started braying once fine starry night, threatening to deafen and frighten at the same time. In my semi-conscious haze it was ridiculously obvious that tall aliens made up of snail skin were back in the area(I think I’d been reading some bad sci-fi), but no, it was donkeys. Donkeys, for heaven’s sake. Which is, of course, why I treasure each second of peace here in Goa. Where I shall probably never get to live again. Sigh and sigh and sigh.
Was noch? Oh yes, I re-read Toast by Nigel Slater, when I was in Pune. The story of a sad childhood told through the association of food. Deliciously melancholy and an appetisingly ornate read. You will cry as you are laughing and vice versa. I know. I would’ve made such a good book critic. Seriously though, I’ve gifted the book to a lot of people and I’d recommend it to anyone who likes their food or has some level of sensitivity to life.
Had some brilliantly perfect recheado mackerel and fried kingfish at my aunt’s tonight. Oh, and Xacuti chicken. And pudding. And mmmmmmm...and I don’t care about the calories. (Although maybe in the morning a wave of guilt will visit. Eh.)
I finally finally went to the salon today after what literally felt like years. It was so bad that I was beginning to avoid meeting anyone who was not family (and thus not obliged to like me as I am. Which was unfortunately very very hairy). I mean, okay, it wasn’t so bad, but my skin had begun to look about a shade darker. Heh. And I got a haircut, which was supposed to be a trim. Hairdressers always, but always do this. Oh, and my hair, it took years to grow. With a few snip-snap swishy important-sounding sounds of an innocently small pair of scissors, it's about 5 inches shorter. It’s the same as when waiters while serving you seem to be stone deaf when you say ‘thank you, that’s enough’ or something and go on to serve about double of how much you actually want. I’m sad about the hair, but at least it’s not as bad as January, when Mavis cut it so short, my back felt naked.
Realization – I turn into a major slob every time I come home to Goa, happily indulging in the simple primal pleasure of TV watching, sleeping (in peace and quiet) and eating. On Tuesday, for instance, I watched Armageddon again followed immediately by The Pursuit of Happyness. And after that, I finally bathed. Felt so icky. But that’s the story of (that’s the glory of) sloth.
And this slob, I fear
Has had it up till here
So, sweet reader
I wish thee good night
Fluff your pillows
Draw the curtains
And don’t let the bed bugs bite
(and you thought it was going to be profound. I am so off my rocker tonight. byebyebye)