You know when you don’t have five minutes to sit down and do something you don’t HAVE to do, that you are hyper inefficient in life. Hyper inefficiency, is thy name Gobblefunkist.
I can see the hormonal see-saw beginning its up-down motion and I have been walking on egg shells all day lest I let loose the frustration that has been brewing in me. I seem to always have a long backlog of chores to do – get done with one, start the other – all it can mean is that I am terrible at time and work management.
I am not a nostalgic person, as I have mentioned more than a lot of times here, and I don’t consider my past great enough for me to return to, as a rule. But today, I would like to go back to say, 43 years ago, so that I could just lie in my crib and all my needs would be taken care of – even if I am pickled in my own urine. If we are talking of travel to past, I’d be happy going back to 45 years back, when I wasn’t even a gleam in my father’s eye. At least I would not have this constant list of chores to do. But the irony is that if I decide to let the chores go to heck, I would still be miserable because I would be guilty that I let the chores go to heck. Some people have no salvation.
It doesn’t help my mood today that a client sends me a document to edit “urgently” on Friday evening, followed by multiple emails reminding me that her deadline is today and that she is completely dependent on me now, and such like so that in the middle of all the home-management crisis that threatens to break me, I work on her document first thing on a Saturday morning, even before my first coffee, empathizing with the panic in her emails, send it back to her by 7 AM, to not even get an acknowledgement that she received it. It is 4 PM now. A person who can send 6 emails urging me to work on her document as high priority cannot send a measly “received it thanks” mail. Pretty irritating.
Good I went anon in this blog – I can rant about work in peace.
This monsoon (or whatever crap this is) is killing me. If it rained enough to get rid of the 84% water deficit we are facing, I would be more than ready to face the inconveniences of the rain. However, the monsoon is not only being miserly, but is a festival of the associated nuisances – high humidity that keeps the clothes from drying and makes them smell like a dead skunk, the cement floors that seep the moisture, making it wet and cold to walk, the day being dark, making indoors darker, necessitating electric lights in the morning, mosquitoes that stingeth like the adder, the weird pains in all the joints that come with the high humidity – name it, you got it. Add to it wet slippers. The neighbourhood alley cats knocked down the shoe rack, and my only pair of outdoor slipper fell into slush. Do you know that soggy slippers can be irritating to the feet and the mind?
Seeing my fridge next to empty, I go to the vegetable shop (wearing said soggy slippers!) that the entire populace of India has chosen to shop at, with spoilt kids running around the already messy shop, throwing vegetables around and screaming their heads off. These are the rare times I am glad my kid is old enough to be left alone at home as I run these errands lest she gets on some other poor overworked woman’s nerves. Some parents seemed hassled by the brats, but a few others seem to revel in the hullabaloo created by their darling wards. On another day, I may have ignored it with “people are people and it is my my sense of entitlement that makes me want to complain” type ethical crap, but today it took all my self control to not pull up one particular boy whose voice range could have shattered glass and give him a juicy one across his butt.
I need a break. The funny part is that I don’t know what sort of a break. Or maybe a shout into the pillow. Or a chocolate that won’t settle in my hips.
Or perhaps all I need is a tight slap.