Prose before hos

"I can't confirm or deny."

Growing up around an agnostic parent meant there were no consistent rituals or customs when it comes to the celebration of "festivals". It has always been a moment of intrigue when I'm demanded accountability by acquaintances, "what are your plans for XXX?" with XXX being any important festival.

It does not help the cause that my other parent who practices some skewered version of religion decided that a convent school was best for me. Maybe they predicted my serial dating habit years ago or maybe they were just lazy. I have other theories but I'll keep them to myself.
My background into mythology and understanding of religion largely comes from the practice of storytelling; a hobby that advanced into writing and reading, I was obsessed with listening to stories as a kid. Most people don't know this about me, but I would bully my grandmother into telling me ten different stories each night as she put me to bed. Storytelling as an endeavour did one thing right- I imbibed to make my own narrative. In this case, come with my set of rituals for every important occasion.

As a part of my Diwali ritual, I finish a book from cover to cover as the world is going ham with their respective festivities. No matter how drunk, busy, tired or crabby I am, I grab a book on Diwali eve and wrap it in a few hours.

This Diwali, I'd been drunk for a week. I started smoking again and essentially, I was in a haze of intoxication. To cut it short, in no mood with keeping up with traditions. I have theories on why that transpired but that's not critical.

Coming back, as a part of my anti-social asshole regime this year, I made faces and threw shade on one and all. That's hardly new by my standard but I have learned to keep that monster tamed. I think largely it had to do with my patience being tested all around, from work to personal life.


I was particularly snappy all of the last week. The highlights of which include calling a friend "Ice Prince".

Don't raise your eyebrow. The term is self explanatory. Ice Prince is a dude who is cold, and inaccessible and only soluble at room temperature at carnivals.

To be fair, I've been using the term in regular conversations for a while now and have not bothered to remember the etymology. It just describes some people rather well and somehow, it stuck around with me as a phrase that I use when I want to remind people to be kind especially when I think they're being obnoxious. On a side note, I should maybe, take a weekend and sort the definitions of these insults in my head to avoid any further embarrassment.

As a good save, I do think of an Ice Prince as a chill guy who slips in and out of his mold and mixes well with a spirit or two.

Anyway, I don't think this went down well. In my defensive mode, I explained that I had read this in a book long ago.

Upon further prodding, I confessed that I didn't remember the name of the book where I'd read this. However, I skipped the details. It took a grand total of 2 minutes, with the help of my nuanced research skills that I employed, to learn the name of the book.

In absolutely no time I had assessed everything there was to the context of the usage. Man, why would I continue using this for years?

Keeping up with the merriment, I decided to read this again as a part of my only Diwali ritual. I dug out the copy of the book and read the whole thing this past weekend. I think I would have been better without this reminder, but no, I had to invoke the ghost of Ice Prince and throw shade. The entire process made me look and feel stupid and how. Let me explain why.

It's hilarious and I'm partly ashamed to admit that an absolutely pathetic book is mirroring my life in godawful ways. I remembered certain portions, well but for the most part, had completely forgotten about the things that went down in the book. This includes the protagonist's job, her friends and their story arcs coming a complete circle, an old friend reconnecting just before her wedding (eerily described to be similar to what went down when I reconnected with my long lost best friend from school after 8-9 years), old crushes losing sheen, new ones being totally hopeless and a general sense of displacement amongst others. At the end of this re-reading, I was embarrassed for myself. Why is my fucking life resembling a godawful chick-lit?

If I add another punctuation up there, even my blog will resemble one, if it doesn't already remind you of that. Not cool at 28. Not cool at 17 either but I'll be kind to my younger self.

What's worst is that I was impressed with the book when I first read it eleven years ago. I recall I was writing this blog and extensively writing about my time around the guy in the neighbourhood who I crushed on. When I read the book and how painstakingly it covered the protagonist's crush and so on, my 17-year-old self felt validated. Not the best role model at the time. It doesn't help one bit that with time, the crush in the book and mine in real life have unfolded to resemble just as lame. That's a parallel I can live with.

Now that I think of it, I don't think I'd have fully understood what the book was trying to do as a 16-17-year-old when I first read this. The entire novel was recreated as a part of the author's blog and was the shite amongst bloggers at the fag end of the noughts. Ofcourse, today, writers do gigs on independent digital publications and nobody reads books or even those pieces. Instead, the ritual demands everyone to Instagram the front cover. There are video book previews, a joke since every serious reader at some point prior to the descent of internet television looked down upon the moving visuals as a medium when compared to the written word on paper.

I don't know what's worse, writing deals scored then basis blogs or the interpretation of books today. Whatever it is, one needs to seriously reflect upon that and action. In my case, cease reading garbage and calling people by those names.

For what it's worth, the back blurb added to the charm of the ice prince "...(he) who thaws at his own convenience".

Move on Annabelle. Some of us have to live with completely eerie book-life situations mirroring real-life, instead of having the luxury to play with cursed toys. Meanwhile, now I truly believe that all rituals should be open to customization. To that end, I now propose burning stupid books instead of crackers on Diwali.

Where do you draw a line with friends who will be nothing but honest with you, at all fucking times?

I'm struggling to pick up the chalk and redefine the Radcliffe line here. The same stuff is what went down during Ethics in Philosophy III; the ad-hoc was really nice to me and I was grade A bitch. I was consistently eye-rolling at her and side-eyeing half the class or some such. I can confirm this as whole truth. A testimonial, if you may, from a bunch of people, who I call friends.

It's nothing short of a miracle that I have friends from college who stuck around, or for that matter, took my bullshit for 3+ years. Credit where credit is due. 



If at all, truth is to be told, then, we would be blessed to have people in our lives who would be nothing but brutally honest to us. Apparently, all my friends are brutally honest. Do I have a type? Yes. Are they emotionally unavailable? Only if I'm trying to bed them.

I digress. Coming back, a few weeks ago, I was telling a friend (let's call her K) about a minor fuck-up I did in terms of coming clean to someone about a certain situation.

What was this situation? Let's see. I was confronted with a question, and within seconds I point blank refuted everything. Instead of giving a detailed answer with facts, I chose the easy way out. I denied everything and took the shortcut.

Hazy facts equal complete denial of anything ever equal evading difficult questions.

I'd give you more details but you'll have to be nice to me and meet me over whiskey (which has thankfully given me no hangover so I'm back on my alcohol drinking ways, baby) and buy me alcohol until I am laughing like a hyena and can't type straight on my phone.

For someone who's a homebody, I digress a lot.

This entire episode was recited over lunch to K. As I narrated the hazy facts, my vehement denial and all the bullshit, I could sense her disturbance. Not as eloquently as I put 'bullshit', but you know, food spilling out of my mouth with some disturbing details.

"Do you realize, you've fucked this for yourself?"

"This was fucked up, to begin with. My coming clean about the facts and the variables would have added to more problems. I don't think I hav..."

"Save this. This is bullshit. You know you're saying all this to cover up and you should not have been dishonest."

For someone who's known me for just under a month (did I tell you that about K? I know her for barely a month), that was hard, and much needed.

Most of my friends have known of this certain situation and the facts which have been withheld for a reason. Not one pointed out the obvious flaw in the plan. Maybe, the situation today is so fucked cause I withheld the fucking facts and made the whole narrative dense instead of simplifying it.

I admit this hasn't been the easiest piece to write considering you don't know anything and are probably bored out of your wits. Heck, I've re-written this piece 3 times and it still reads like shit. I've time to kill and so I'll wrap this quick.

Truth bombs. That's what. What to do when your friends would be nothing but absolutely honest with you and push you to confront difficult situations and decisions as opposed to the shit they show on web series.

Do I know what to do? No. Am I attempting to figure this out? Also no.

On this subject, confronting truth and being completely clean, my old pal Mia K and I have gotten into hours of conversation leading to arguments. She and I have both said nasty things to one another, only to feel awful about it and being awkward the next couple of times around one another in times of distress. I'd like to believe she would have been more involved in my life if certain hard-hitting conversations had not gone down.

I don't mean this as disrespect or even with an iota of a grudge but being on the receiving end of brutally honest facts about yourself is disorienting. It really shakes your ground, especially when confronted by someone you actually care.

This was the case with Mia K, when she gave me her ultimatum, regarding a certain someone who she believed, is good for nothing wastrel. She had been opposing the alliance for a long time now and despite her subtle signals on the fact that she did not want to spend hours talking about him with me, and instead discuss meaningful things like work, life, hobbies (that exclude the hobbies she doesn't approve of aka Ludo or Tinder). All those points were fair and not demanding of me. I pushed her limit when my moping continued until the fifth month of the calendar year.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to get over it," 

I think that was the trigger. She blew up and rightfully, told me to shove it along with a long monologue, that I suspect she had been rehearsing in her head for at least a year.

I got yelled at and was asked to fucking straighten my act, not mope (lol) and move on with the remaining life aka focus on my fucking work, PhD, Ludo and whatever it is was adding positively. Okay, maybe not Ludo but the other fucking things.

In my defence, I did not want a solution. I just wanted support to lean on and cry to. Nothing more.

I was actively doing things with people at work, my friends, my family, heck, even strangers on the internet, and occasionally with the man in possession of good set of abs, who shall forever remain nameless (this city is far too small for names).

I was in a bad space personally, professionally and doing what I did with the situation, which is I worked so hard till I annoyed my co-workers, applied for all possible journals, did freelance, worked some more, and watched garbage on the internet. I did not want a reminder of what was the call of action. I just wanted a shoulder to cry on and apparently, not one shoulder around me was available. This would only happen in the hour or two post-work and before bed, considering I was spending most of my time working

For that yelling and consistent reminder, I'm grateful.

Over the Summer, we had multiple conversations on her keeping it calm and not getting overwhelmed with trying to help me, on both sides. I know what is to be done, I know how to do it. But do I want to do it? Maybe not. Maybe, I just want to fuck my happiness some more and see you be there for me and witness me fall down. Maybe that's all I want.

When I call someone to talk to, it's usually to unburden, and not to seek help. Call to action for help comes easy and I do directly ask. It's never beating around the bush for me. I understand the call to action is missing and I'm probably really dumb about this, but it'll come with time.

Now's not the time.

I'm essentially trying to say that this shit sucks donkey balls and if your friends are halfway as caring as mine, you'll know the entire narrative of being called out on bullshit even when the shit is worthwhile.

Meanwhile, on the subject of bullshit, did you know gobar sells like hot cake.

Mia K started selling gobar cakes and, apparently, those have sold more than her debut book, ha!

You can buy her gobar cakes on Amazon. She's better than your average home baker at cakes.

This post is not sponsored by the money she's made from gobar, which is a lot more than the royalty she receives annually.

"I lie. I do miss you a lot."

Accompanying a post, I read the caption which *this* artist had put up on Instagram. The post was a wall art in a contemporary type that read, "I don't miss you at all."

I was on her page locating some information for a business prospect, when I came across this cheesy, one hundred percent real caption. The ease at which she was vulnerable, I envied that.



It made me think hard. How I wish I could just tell people I miss them.

I fucking miss a lot of people and I wish I had the courage to pick up the phone and say it out loud to them. Get it off my chest. There, I don't fucking care anymore but I do.

Unfortunately for me, I come from that regressive school of thought where I'd much rather take that vulnerable thought with me to my deathbed than give the other person the satisfaction of knowing that yes, I do think about you a lot, and yes, you often cross my mind. I wish I could take that out and live with it.

It happens to me at all hours. Sometimes it's during a meeting when I'm staring at someone's hands and I suddenly think how your fingers are shapely, much like the person whose hands I've been staring at to avoid thinking that this meeting could have been an email. Even during the times when someone is acting clingy and my response is the same as is yours in a situation like that. Occasionally I'd imagine you and me in our prime enjoying lunch or just about wasting time on the road, in the dead of the night. How I miss 'you' and how this 'you' has done a number on 'me'.

Man, I miss a lot of things associated with a lot of people, and I wish I had the courage to just fucking say it to the concerned parties. 

To be honest, it would be much less dramatic than how I have made for it to be. One, because there's no reception inside my house, one can't lift a phone to dial. Second, do they even want to hear from me?

A lot of my "missing" is insincere. I say, 'I miss you' or add a cursory 'I miss you too' in conversations but don't mean anything at all by that. I think of it like saying 'thank you' or 'excuse me'. You know at this point, it's a conditioned response to situations, much like Our Father in Heaven every morning. To this day, that's the only thing that occurs inside my head in times of trouble (Mother Mary speaks to me, fuck me).

It's usually in those cases where the missing is a lie when I say it out loud.

Then again, there are times, when I do pick up the phone and dial the concerned parties to announce how I'm missing them.

"Missing" or their "absence" which is felt is a one-time thing. It happens in fleeting moments, it happens when you're unprepared to tackle it. In cases when you do take this forward, it backfires, thus discouraging you from the future practice of acknowledging the fleeting moment to the end of an action.

Don't get me wrong. I have truly missed people and told them and then again, truly attempted to establish contact after radio silence but I'm easily dissuaded. One jerk reaction and I'm out, to never try it again.

In some cases, I'm particularly obstinate and those are the ones where I know I can push my boundaries. Again, I can call those names out on a hand but for most people I miss truly, it goes with me in my skin. It never comes out. It never will. You wouldn't know if I missed you, cause I'd die with that fact.

You could be someone who's not been in touch with me for a few years and you'd be surprised that I remember every little detail about your outfit the last time we met. You could be someone I met once in a clandestine turn of events which left a long-lasting impact. You could be someone who I went to tuitions with and got terrorized by my Accounts teacher. You could be someone who isn't reading this nor will ever bother to read. You could also be someone I'm in regular touch with but would never say this out loud to. I miss what we were, even in that fleeting moment. I miss what we used to be, when we were the people we were.

The joy of writing this is that those who I miss won't ever think it's them. They probably know nothing about it or if they do, they don't give two shits.

Well, the demographic that doesn't give two shits about this page is too large so let's not use that.

I have potentially lost membership to leagues and bigger battles to that question of whether I should address this stupidity. Will I sound overbearing? Do people want to hear from me at all?

What is it with people today and being vulnerable. I can't get myself to admit anything to anyone unless it's someone I know I can confide in and be real with without inviting any judgment aka 3 people at best.

For the last two days, I've been in touch with a cousin and sharing matters of heart concerning these feels that have propped and how they need to be addressed. Fairly clairvoyant for her age, my cousin declared that I should pick up the phone and address the feels directly to the said recipient(s).

I've only disconnected her call and ignored her messages conveying the same to me on all the other platforms since.

Earlier today, I got a call from MK. She's been a regular feature here under another name. However, this is 2019, and I feel a change is in order, hence we'll go with MK.

Anyway, MK and I spent close to an hour discussing the state of affairs in our respective dating life and where we're headed as a civilization. We discussed these feels and came to the conclusion that feels are good for nothing. A girl after my own heart.

Them feels stem from a sense of vacuum which is created by the monsters inside one's head. Nobody addresses them feels. Feels are for the weak hearted. Feels are for those who end up taking a leap of faith, asking someone out on a knee with a ring or just about doing pre-wedding photoshoots or even celebrating their kid's 4th birthday together despite having only met each other 6 years ago, a month before their roka.

Essentially, I need to seek comfort in other people to avoid those feels. It comes from investing all your eggs in one basket. I can imagine why it's haunting me now especially since I have not entered the dating pool since the beginning to the year and naturally, there's a discomfort in seeing everyone around me with someone.

I am not going to sugarcoat this but people in love deserve a tight slap, especially when you as a person can't garner the courage to address any emotion, leave alone being in love.

Maybe, it's Fall and the need to find a body to cuddle and banter with. If the history tells us anything, then Fall is responsible for all doom. It wrecks total havoc on my common sense. It could very well be my need to deflect from learning data analysis or completing an ad campaign certification, or just going easy on myself for once. It's okay to put PhD on hold and focus on other, important things that secure the future in a manner more than another degree does.

Or maybe, I just need to pick up the damn phone and tell the people I miss just that. 

Sometime in March, I believe, I wrote about the first trimester. I could have fucking waited a month and called it a quarter but the genius that I am, decided to jump at the first instinct. Either way, this is Quarter 2's report. I'm pleased to say everything that was looking up in the last post is now down the dumps.

Also, please stop reading posts from 2008. They exist so I can be grounded about how terribly I used to write. And perhaps, still, do.

For reference, this is the "First Trimester" report. To enjoy *this* piece, highly recommend that you read the last report before you proceed with this.

Taking forward from where I left, I am no longer moping.
Well, I couldn't, in the last quarter, cause I was busy fighting severe anxiety. Cause? People who won the elections were the trigger. Each time, I'd read the news or watch the same, I'd be down being catatonic. Imagine, those guys coming to power in full majority. I mean, you don't have to imagine cause that's exactly what happened.

Anti-depressants are just as bad as Dementors. I think I deserve a round of applause for basically surviving the hell-whole the medication was. I finally understand why they celebrate folks who have fought depression/anxiety/mental illness'. This shit sucks and how.

I'd like to think I got out of the funk, that had taken over me sometime last year, during my trip to Bangkok. This couldn't have happened without P breathing down my neck each day at work, just checking on me whether I'm doing okay. I lucked out there.

Speaking of work, I quit my job. What was the center of attention in my life, and perhaps the only thing working out. I signed out for good, and well, I'm hoping it leads to better things. It was a difficult transition, one that resulted in a big change.

The change, you ask, is that I got a drink.
Fine, I got half a bottle of whiskey with an old friend who may or may not have helped me quit my job. I'm terrified that I might be enabling his narcissism if I give him any more credit on that. But, it was a lot of alcohol for someone who resisted alcohol for a little over half the year.
Following that, I got a bottle of beer and then some more with my old bass teacher, who has blocked memories of me sucking at playing the bass. Thank the lord for that.
I'd like to think there's been no looking back but I can count the total number of occasions during which I've had alcohol. Four. Each and every sip was worth it. Quality over quantity, baby.

I would also not beat myself up for alcohol because I think I needed it the morning after I found out that I got dropped from the book deal I got. Apparently, things didn't work out. Things such as my writing. I'd like to take a moment and acknowledge the WhatsApp I received earlier in the day when I got rejected, "I liked you better when you could write."
Me too, buddy. Me too. I liked myself better when I could.

On the bright side, I have a fantastic new rejection story along with the one where I got rejected from Fulbright Fellowship. My letters of interest from four different universities are a total waste. It's been a delightful month, really.

Lest we forget, credit where credit is due. Gotta thank Cuddle Boy for talking me into trying for Fulbright. He really seemed to believe in me, more than I did at the time. Nobody has ever looked at me with such conviction and asked me to pursue academia. Ofcourse, my friends would like to think it was a way of getting in my pants. Well, about that...

Safe to say, Cuddle Boy and I are a thing of last quarter. We parted ways amicably since he decided to be in a committed relationship with someone else. The fact that he talked it out and gave the notice to withdraw his services is well appreciated, to the point it should be normal but we don't get that normalcy in Delhi. Do we?

On other fronts, I've gained a total of 10 kilos back. My diet is at an all-time fail. I've nothing, nobody to blame for it but me.

It's also my birthday in about two weeks or so and I'm fucking off to Thailand again! Well, hoping to, since my connecting flight is in about an hour and I've to do visa-on-arrival at the first airport so pray for me, my non-refundable hotel bookings, my bank balance (which is really a thing to worry about in the absence of it being employed), my body weight and also my sister who's joining me on a trip after 3 whole years. Could have found a Tinder match and ruined my life for the next two years but oh well. We did that last year. Can't repeat our mistakes in under 365 days.

I'm so excited that I've added an exclamation in the subject title.

No, not drunk. Stone cold sober, been since this Thursday.

To be honest, two drinks don't count. Especially if you intersperse them with the conversation of 3 years long employment and leaving that without a degree. Whoever said I'm a commitment-phobe has not met me in three years. (to all the Tinder boys I've stood up after the second date)

Okay fine, two years and a dissertation didn't give me a degree (yet) and I still did it. A job atleast pays.

No better day than today and no better time than now to compile this wishlist cause baby, I have a writing deadline. I should be planning a vacation, eating clean ("I will STOP all carbs the day my notice period ends" has become only, and only carbs).

I'll stop. Long story short, my last day at work is round the corner. I'm nervous, for good measure. I want to squeeze in a lazy beach vacation but somehow everyone around me has suddenly become oh so busy and I'll probably shoot myself in the head if I travel alone.
Okay fine, I won't. But I can't come back with 30 kilos baggage limit especially when a beach vacation has to have a complete wardrobe overhaul innit.



Here's a concise wishlist for my upcoming birthday, that I was dreading all year long, especially since the last one was ahem, so eventful.

1) Chocolate fucking cake. Chocolate fucking cake slice from Big Chill. The kind with buttercream icing and the one that's kept on the front fucking counter. I can't remember what it's called but it's right up front (along with another that looks deceptively similar). Ask the server and get the one with the B-U-T-T-E-R-C-R-E-A-M and buttercream alone. Not the ganache one. You'll have to go to the store at Khan Market, it's on rack starting 12 noon. You can call them up for details but they don't take advance orders. Yep, I researched ALL this for my own fucking birthday cake cause that's what people who like cake do.
Alternatively, if that's unavailable then the Red Velvet with Cream Cheese that I love. Contact my family for details.
If you can't get these two right then try Red Moon's Double Chocolate Cake. It's the laziest option from this entire list and I won't hate you completely. Please don't forget sparkler candles.

Don't @ me. It was a shit year for cake and I won't take a repeat of that. Not on my watch.

2) Water brush pen for watercolour since I'm not going to invest any more in my hobbies. Some paper to paint and general watercolour supplies would be good. Hit me up if you're taking this up. I'll share my list of what all I need. Bear in mind this is a fairly expensive endeavour, which is why I'm not particularly keen on buying this on my own. Expensive for art supplies, not like that 3.5k lipstick expensive. We're looking at the paper, glass paper mount (don't eye roll, please), maybe an easel, a beret, the works.

3) Birthday card. Each of you please send a personalized birthday card/postcard regardless of what you bring or not bring along with it. Handwritten, please. No e-card business. Post/courier preferably. Don't bring it with you.

4) Any 2000 piece and plus puzzle set. I think these are quite steep, please pool in with someone to get this. None of my gift-giving friends are earning in dollars yet.

5) Bookshelf for my room. Been asking for over a year. Either that or a sofa set. This is for those earning in dollars if you felt left out.

6) A pair of new fucking sneakers. I pitched in all my freelance money this Feb to buy a pair of Adidas Continentals only to find they're giant for me and ended up wearing them for two months. As a result, nobody's buying them off me and I don't want to spend more money on that. My shoe size is women's 6 (I think?) or men's 6 (are these different?). I bought a 7 and it was too big, which makes me wonder cause my 7-year-old sneakers from Adidas are size 7 and they fit well. Help. No, seriously. Urgently needed. Again, this shit is expensive. Maybe 5 people can pool in money together. Have you started Snobster's birthday crowdfunding project yet?

7) Doc Martens. No way in hell am I spending my money buying those but man, they look so fucking good.

8) Shasn. Mia K thinks it's a terrible idea to put money into something that I won't get before 2020 but then I put 2 years of my life into MPhil and got no degree so I'm that person just about any-fucking-way.

9) A new swimsuit. Ooh, this is interesting. I've image references for what I'd like (text me) and I can't seem to find a place to buy online. I'm thinking black, understated, sexy or fuschia fitted or gold with just a hint of sexy. This can't be mass-produced or bought from a crap e-commerce website that all of Delhi Metro women compartment buys from. Please spare me that stuff. Come empty-handed to wish me if that's your instinct to buy. This is more research-intensive than expensive.

10) Uber gift card? I don't know why are you reading this if you want to get this?

11) Crockery. I'm that person now, yeah. I could do with chic whiskey glasses (please, please text me for image reference) or giant wine glass set. Maybe even blue pottery plates and serving bowls.,

12) Single bed black cotton bed sheets. Double bed would do too. Remember cotton and black. Plain fucking black. No embroidery or design or texture or anything. Plain black.

13) Gel fucking eyeliner. Check if my sister has bought this. I don't have an eyeliner. Can you fucking believe how the mighty have fallen? I think Maybelline's is okay unless someone has a better recommendation. I was told Mac does it well but they test on animals and ever since I found out I make it a point to avoid any new Mac purchase.

14) Victoria's Secret Body Mist. If someone's coming down from the US, catch hold of them. These are the cheapest there. Don't bring me Bath and Body Works Body Mist or buy VS' from anywhere but the US. They all suck except the ones listed here.

15) This calendar.

16) A backpack that looks exactly like this or better still this. The brief really is a classic black backpack. Don't make me cringe with your choice.

17) Body shower gel from Marks and Spencer. International outlets have the best ones. Even handwash gels are great.

18) Clothes are a great idea but only if you'd like to take me shopping. Socks aren't a great idea, I've too many of them. We could go to my favourite boutique in Humayunpur and you could get me more clothes that I have no place to wear except dates which I've stopped going on completely. On a serious note, basic 3/4 sleeve t-shirts are a welcome idea but in person, please. I like to feel the material and know what I'm signing up for.

19) A Bobbi Brown Lipstick. Ask AJ the shade she has that I've been trying to steal from her. It's steep as fuck, please don't buy it yourself unless you earn in dollars and definitely don't buy a replacement from another brand. Unless it's Nars. Nars has really cool stuff. Actually, a nice milk chocolate matte would be good. Don't get Lakmé, please.

20) Bunny.  a kitten would be good.

Consolatory ideas: skipping rope, The Office (US) merchandise (no round neck t-shirts), a new cellphone, cinnamon toothpaste, a paid vacation to Sri Lanka, my friend Lucas Moraes from Brazil, film tickets coupon, a tall man to cuddle this Fall, fix my laptop, gym membership, yoga lessons, rainbow cream cheese cake from my erstwhile intern's mom's kitchen, bedside lamp (check image references with me). 

Not sure if I should be glad that the universe spelt it out for me that research isn't going anywhere or unhappy that I'm still gonna pay my dues?