Day in and Day out

People talk about fresh mornings and sultry evenings. People talk about tiring weekdays and colorful weekends. People talk about boring workplaces and even boring colleagues, yeah sometimes a few exciting ones find themselves studded in those jaded descriptions. I am indifferent. To all these talks and to all these phenomena. Only a couple of hours ago was I in the office, staring at my computer screen, trying to concentrate on the Nightwish song the system was playing. And in a flash, I flew down to...nowhere. I was still sitting, still listening and still thinking about the paucity of work through this week. Today is a Friday.

I have realized that just as the spring starts to draw curtains on the inconspicuous winter, the days are growing longer. I wake up to a brighter, warmer morning everyday. A fresh morning though has yet to flare my day. The irksome chores are growing all to heavy on me. Someone who used to wake up at the slightest hint of a ripple in his immediate surrounding now chooses to ignore the dramatic, irrepressible spirit of the milkman, who finds amusement in the cacophony generated by the prolonged ringing of a door bell. Every morning is a painful realization of the fact that now, I am spoilt for choice. That historic question, of course history repeats itself everyday, of what would I look to have just stumps me. On the one hand, I have a choice, and on the other, it is only either potato, beans...yeah, buzz off. No one is interested in what you eat. You were talking about things people talk. Fresh mornings.

After listless days, I wonder what is left for the evenings. Nothing by the wild swaying of my head, sometimes in unison, though mostly in disharmony with the BEST buses. Again, a realization. I have lost control over my powers to remain awake during a BEST bus journey. Something with the bus, or the ride. Something. I just cannot manage to stay awake. Yesterday, I leapt into the empty bus, got a seat and took out Neruda. An exercise to ward off the dozing cycle. As beautiful has he might write in Spanish, I do much better in English. I shove it back into my bag. And the treacherous, villainous siesta encroaches. The observation here is that until Wednesday, I used to sleep all by myself. Wednesday onward, I have lost control of that as well. Once a passenger requests me to sit by the window so that I can rest my swaying head; the second time, when I wake up, I find another passenger, the more amorous one, offering his shoulder for my head. I alight at the next stop, embarrassed. So much for the sultry evenings.

Anyway, another weekend goes by. I am still searching a jazzy one.