I love ya tomorrow, you're always a day away

All my life I've been more or less harum-scarum, reader, and as I think back, it's rarely served me well. I push deadlines as far as they will go and then proceed to ignore them. I'm clean, but I've never been accused of being tidy. I write like I do everything else: haphazardly. I'm always pleasantly surprised when things fall into place despite me, and that's always nice, but that really doesn't cut it any more does it?

I want to be one of those people who has all her bills filed away in a drawer, and doesn't have to rescue her bank statement from being chewed up by the dog because it was lying on the floor and fair game. I want to use post-it notes for annotations while reading instead of for doodling on when I'm on the phone. The sort of person who, yes, plans her activities on Google Calendar every month and then sets daily reminders and actually follows them. I suppose I should start by flipping my wall calendar which still thinks it's March. It's all just... exhausting to think of.

Still, think of it I will. Tomorrow. We shall begin tomorrow, reader. It takes three weeks to form a habit, so just you see. By the fourteenth of September, I shall be a new, frighteningly efficient woman. I'll even buy those multicoloured highlighters and arrange them in my stationery drawer. Colour coded. First, I'll clear out a drawer for stationery.

Tomorrow.

On a day like today

Do you also have days, reader, when you feel like you're sleepwalking? I think about atmospheric pressure in times like these; how all of us carry a column of air that extends all the way into space, on our shoulders. Our blood exerts outward pressure to balance the weight of the atmosphere, which is what keeps us from getting crushed under that enormous force, like a sapling under a tank.
On some days, doesn't it feel like your blood just gives up? I think of blood vessels bursting in little red pops, under that tremendous onslaught of pressure. I can't see them, but the image is vivid in my mind. My spine is all I have to hold me up and it isn't doing a very good job. Gravity drags me down and the air above smothers me. All I want to do is lie down, curled up in a ball, and let the forces do their worst.
It's easy to be happy, most days. It's on days like today that it's so much harder, and -I tell myself- a true test of character. It's for days like today that I began writing this blog, at a time when every day felt like today. So, I'm not going to think about atmospheric pressure any more. I'm going to sit on my chair with a straight spine, sip my coffee, and talk to you.
In the office today, I sat next to a glass window that stretched from floor to roof. I could see people and cars below, but hear no sound except the fan above me and the clickety-clack of computer keys from all the cubicles around. The light outside was gray and foreboding, yet with that peculiar clarity that only the rains bring. Even sunshine is never this clear. Nearby objects are brighter, colours stand out more, and everything far away and therefore not worth considering is blurred out by the fog. It brought a sense of immediacy that I found I needed. Who cares if the future and the past are foggy and unclear? We have the present, and it is full of puddles, umbrellas, and bright-eyed dogs. 

Ah reader, today is going to be a good day. Even if all my original plans for the day have been derailed by a rather nasty sore throat, at least my voice has changed to pleasantly croaky instead of its usual borderline shrill. I amuse myself to no end by croaking at the dog. He can't understand why the creature before him looks like me but doesn't talk like me, and after jumping up at me and barking in my face, he gives up on the mystery and chases his tail till he's dizzy. Then I laugh wheezily, which sets him off all over again. We're easily amused in these parts.
I gave up on my plan of going on a long run and stayed in to play with the dog instead. Playing with him these days is quite a production, because he will not stop trying to dig up the lawn. He's also embarrassingly disobedient, which means each time I catch him trying to dig up the lawn, I can't command him to stop. I have to run at him and chase him away, which he of of course thinks is tremendous fun, so we do it over and over again till I break the cycle by offering him a biscuit. It's a lowering thought that even with my dog, the only way I can command obedience is through bribery.
Still, once I lure him in with the biscuit, I catch hold of his collar. I'm polite and wait for him to finish chewing. He shows me no such courtesy. Once he's done eating his biscuit, he promptly rolls over and kicks up at me, trying everything he can to make me let go. I get covered in grass and dog hair and streaks of mud, but I hold on doggedly till I can drag him, still kicking, to the verandah, where I reattach his leash and march him off for a bath.
Most other dogs I've bathed have stood miserable and still while I played the water over them. Panda protests, vociferously. I need to watch him carefully and steer clear of his teeth. He also rears up on his hind legs and waves his forepaws about, which I have learnt through experience, can do quite a bit of damage. Still, eventually, I manage to get him bathed, dried and powdered and back indoors. Now he's collapsed under the bed with all the consciousness of a job well done, and I am collapsed on my chair, sweaty, dishevelled, mud-streaked and triumphant.  

It rained today. One moment it was sunny and I was blithely walking out of the metro station, the next moment, I was dashing for cover under the metro rail, fumbling frantically for my umbrella. I don't like this umbrella; indeed it has all the elements I dislike most in umbrellas. It's one of those really compact ones with two bends in the spokes, which make it blow inside-out at the slightest gust of wind. It's also sparkly, purple, has a stubby little handle and has a translucent lace inset bordered by sequins. I like my umbrellas long, with curvy handles and coloured in all the hues of a rainbow. The sort that if you spin fast enough, will look white. The sort that you could use to pretend you were a combination of Captain Hook and Mister Fantastic. The sort you could use as a prop when tap dancing on the pavement. I've never had one of those. My umbrellas have either been boring and black, or inappropriately purple.
Still, an umbrella is an umbrella and I was one of the few people exiting the metro station who'd had the foresight to pack one. I dug mine out, opened it with a bit of a flourish and stepped out jauntily on the road. Then, a passing car raced through a puddle and splashed me from head to toe. 

Ah reader, I want to bake cookies today. The sort of cookies that inflate in the oven like balloons and then fall back down upon themselves as if pricked by a pin. I also want to go running and not stop till I'm panting and my legs hurt and I'm tired. I want to play on my poor, neglected veena till my fingers blister and I finally learn how to make music. I want to tease the dog till he rolls onto his back and kicks out at me petulantly. I want to learn...

"Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, 

and cabbages and kings, 

and why the sea is boiling hot, 

and if pigs have wings." 

Life just now is terribly interesting, reader. In this next week, I plan on doing all those things, and more. 

I watched the raindrops turn to silver, caught in his hair

Two nights ago, appa and I set out after dinner, upon a quest for ice cream. It had rained that evening and there were two lines of street lamps: those that glowed redly in the sky and the winking ones reflected in the puddles on the road. We took the dog with us, who is afraid of the dark. He dragged us from lamp to lamp, eager to reach and loth to leave. We had to cross the road and the traffic light seemed never to change. Car after car zipped past as we stared at the red light that screamed "Stop" across the night, and we obeyed. Finally, our patience was rewarded and the light turned green, and we crossed, dragging the reluctant dog with us.
I bought the ice cream from an old man who was just closing up his cart for the night. Butterscotch cones, that we took back to share with amma who was waiting at home. We walked faster this time; the ice cream was melting. A large, rather ghoulish stray dog chased us for a while, his barks quite distinct from the sound of the traffic. Panda kept looking back nervously and urging us to go faster.
We came home and peeled the paper off our melting cones and nibbled them while the dog panted at our feet. That night, I dreamt of butterscotch ice cream cone milkshakes.

Butterscotch ice cream cone milkshake
Take one butterscotch ice cream filled cone, the sort with tiny little butterscotch crisps on top of it. Peel off the paper and lick the ice cream that comes off along with it. Dump the cone into a blender, and follow it with a cupful of milk, two tablespoons of cream, and a squirt of butterscotch sauce. Pulse until the cone has disintegrated and everything looks thick and reluctant and unnaturally yellow. Pour into a tall glass and drink with your feet inserted under a panting dog.

Reader, I must be the most contrary of creatures. For weeks now, I've been looking up at clear blue skies and wishing it would rain. It finally did and I find myself longing for sunshine again. I find my moods curiously affected by the weather and this rain makes me ever so blue. I'm tired of pretending a cheerfulness I don't feel, so I've decided to give myself one evening to wallow. I'll begin by ranting here, move on to watching Dara O'Briain and laughing loudly when he decimates his front row, and perhaps end the night chatting with P, who can be counted upon to encourage my whims. 

If the mood so moves me, I shall perhaps address a few cutting remarks to the dog, who will pretend not to care.