Cat Naps
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
I'm surprised none of my drafts are saved here...
It's really not despondency as much as the domino's not falling in place for any writing. I wouldn't care for this ideally, but, circumstances leading to the events where drafts aren't being saved are making me believe I should.
I saved three drafts on one night, two on the leap night and two on two different mornings where I got WiFi access in Pune, in the class.
Fuck Apple. Another reason why their mobile devices and I aren't made for one another.
Besides everything else, living by oneself makes you question the need to write. As intricately woven this narrative is in my head, I was repeating it twice a day to go through my tasks for the day besides the schedule for classes, set routine for breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner. The need to write and express was taken care in a space where I didn't know a single person or had the luxury to spend time with those who knew me. Instead, every minute spent with strangers was like reciting all that I would write here, or what would constitute for interesting posts here.
Although, to be very honest, I hardly think I have anything interesting to say. About my life, about myself. Yet, I allow myself the privilege to use interesting in the same sentence as myself. Come to think of it, after having met the people I did, if I had to go back and meet myself in the room, I'd possibly be like why would I bother to spend 5 minutes with her?
That's the problem then. I've lost my shimmer.
I don't necessarily mean glitter nail paint or sparkling body lotion, in spite of my knowledge on make-up. I used to be this person, I would be proud of. You know, someone who did things and got her shit together, somehow. Now, I eat lunch and want to take a nap and then go on to watch two episodes of Mad Men because they're pending. I used to be angry at people and I used to have ideas and ambitions. Now, all I really care for is my bed and if I am going to get 8 hours innit.
New bed is nice-ish. It's got what the painter calls Antique Scrap Paint, in the shade of grey and brown. It's a cane bed with six panels of cane woven at the back and the front. It looks nothing like the ugly carved shapeless wood boxes on which the rest of the world sleeps. I apologize if you're one of them but look at the carving. Only a certain politician from a certain state in the country would want that in their room. Not me, certainly. It took me a long, long time to decide the bed. Even when I thought I knew I wanted these 60s structured bed or tiled bed, I was unsure. The minute I saw the headpost for a Cane Bed, I knew I wanted it.
It's really not a big deal, this bed. It's just I've never had a bed to myself. All my life I shared bed with my grandparents and later my sister. Also, when you're tiny and your boobs don't take half the bed, it's okay to do so. But when you're neither tiny nor in possession of flat chest, you ideally like some space. My bed takes extra cushions, boobs, pillow, sibling, two different blankets and sheets. Not exactly keeping things minimal. Not that it affected my sleep quality but it did, bother us (sibling and I) for most part of last decade (boob heavy and her, ass heavy). Now that we have a large-r bed than last instance, it feels great. I can turn around and although it takes time to believe that I can turn around another time before I bump into a body part, it's a good feeling to have.
The politics of sleeping are never uncovered until you sleep badly. Last night I found myself awake at 5 am, realizing I slept without brushing my teeth and passed out in my tshirt alone. I woke up, straightened my face, brushed teeth, popped medicine and changed clothes- all in 7 minutes flat and then went to bed again, feeling much fresh than when I woke up. Ofcourse, this satisfaction of crashing on a bed is a luxury right now. Five months of renovation and two months of homelessness is hard. This is ceremonious, since it's four months since I left my room and wrote a post. The position of my laptop on the bed, and I on a chair. I'm at it again, only wrapping it to manage at least 8 hours in the same coveted bed.
The pleasure is all mine.
It's really not despondency as much as the domino's not falling in place for any writing. I wouldn't care for this ideally, but, circumstances leading to the events where drafts aren't being saved are making me believe I should.
I saved three drafts on one night, two on the leap night and two on two different mornings where I got WiFi access in Pune, in the class.
Fuck Apple. Another reason why their mobile devices and I aren't made for one another.
Besides everything else, living by oneself makes you question the need to write. As intricately woven this narrative is in my head, I was repeating it twice a day to go through my tasks for the day besides the schedule for classes, set routine for breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner. The need to write and express was taken care in a space where I didn't know a single person or had the luxury to spend time with those who knew me. Instead, every minute spent with strangers was like reciting all that I would write here, or what would constitute for interesting posts here.
Although, to be very honest, I hardly think I have anything interesting to say. About my life, about myself. Yet, I allow myself the privilege to use interesting in the same sentence as myself. Come to think of it, after having met the people I did, if I had to go back and meet myself in the room, I'd possibly be like why would I bother to spend 5 minutes with her?
That's the problem then. I've lost my shimmer.
I don't necessarily mean glitter nail paint or sparkling body lotion, in spite of my knowledge on make-up. I used to be this person, I would be proud of. You know, someone who did things and got her shit together, somehow. Now, I eat lunch and want to take a nap and then go on to watch two episodes of Mad Men because they're pending. I used to be angry at people and I used to have ideas and ambitions. Now, all I really care for is my bed and if I am going to get 8 hours innit.
New bed is nice-ish. It's got what the painter calls Antique Scrap Paint, in the shade of grey and brown. It's a cane bed with six panels of cane woven at the back and the front. It looks nothing like the ugly carved shapeless wood boxes on which the rest of the world sleeps. I apologize if you're one of them but look at the carving. Only a certain politician from a certain state in the country would want that in their room. Not me, certainly. It took me a long, long time to decide the bed. Even when I thought I knew I wanted these 60s structured bed or tiled bed, I was unsure. The minute I saw the headpost for a Cane Bed, I knew I wanted it.
It's really not a big deal, this bed. It's just I've never had a bed to myself. All my life I shared bed with my grandparents and later my sister. Also, when you're tiny and your boobs don't take half the bed, it's okay to do so. But when you're neither tiny nor in possession of flat chest, you ideally like some space. My bed takes extra cushions, boobs, pillow, sibling, two different blankets and sheets. Not exactly keeping things minimal. Not that it affected my sleep quality but it did, bother us (sibling and I) for most part of last decade (boob heavy and her, ass heavy). Now that we have a large-r bed than last instance, it feels great. I can turn around and although it takes time to believe that I can turn around another time before I bump into a body part, it's a good feeling to have.
The politics of sleeping are never uncovered until you sleep badly. Last night I found myself awake at 5 am, realizing I slept without brushing my teeth and passed out in my tshirt alone. I woke up, straightened my face, brushed teeth, popped medicine and changed clothes- all in 7 minutes flat and then went to bed again, feeling much fresh than when I woke up. Ofcourse, this satisfaction of crashing on a bed is a luxury right now. Five months of renovation and two months of homelessness is hard. This is ceremonious, since it's four months since I left my room and wrote a post. The position of my laptop on the bed, and I on a chair. I'm at it again, only wrapping it to manage at least 8 hours in the same coveted bed.
The pleasure is all mine.
0 comments