Its been a while since I posted. Its been a busy time. So busy in fact that I actually have chipped nailpolish on my toes. And my legs have foliage of density enough for me to qualify for a Woman Who Runs With The Wolves. I’m not even discussing the state of my underarms here. Factors that caused this busy-ness aside, I’ve sort of missed posting. Forgive me. I have three blogs and a home to run. I spend most of my time incubating earth shaking topics on the lines of “Should I bother posting today? Do I have five minutes spare after I do the bread and butter work of which the cheques reach when I’m applying for pension benefits?” Seriously though. Its been a time crunch at the office. And at home, if I have five minutes spare, I’d rather curl up and sleep. I have my priorities right. Sleep keeps my immunity up. I need my immunity in these days of swine flu and handkerchiefs around the nose sprinkled liberally with drops of Eucalyptus oil, which of course is strong enough to ensure that no one comes within a km radius of me, and edge away from me when forced by dictats of circumstance to be with me in the close confines of an automated lift.
No, the swine flu scare is not funny. We’ve had a month of back to back illnesses in the house with the child and the husband ill. The child with cold, fever, and vomiting. Its been well over a month, and he is still weak. The husband of course, finds it below his dignity to admit he is unwell and will push himself to the limits of my patience before he even acknowledges that yes, that is not a twinge of pain, that is pain requiring medical intervention. I’ve been staring beady eyed at any random person in my vicinity who seems to be under the weather and doing the minute mile the moment a cough is let loose. So help me God, I am a total wuss. And its not for me. I’m the one who has walked to the OT with the damn catheter and urine bag attached to me and chatted happily with the surgeon about random things like surgeon’s hands and artists’ hands being similiar, and comparing respective long fingers of yours truly and surgeon, before the anaesthesist puts the damn mask on my nose and life turns techno neon. Its the fear of catching it and spreading it to the kid. Needless to say, sanitiser is my new BFF. Would that I was this diligent about my sunscreen, my skin would have thanked me vigorously for it.
I have also been avoiding crowded places. Thankfully I can. I dont need to travel by public transport, except for the odd rickshaw when the driver is not available. I have stayed away from malls and shopping streets. Diligently. Yup, I’m terrified of H1N1. I am also terrified of potential dents in wallets being made during such random episodes of feel good shopping. The husband is insulated in his cabin through the day and has been warned not to entertain visitors. The child has been boarded up at home with added attraction of one new toy per day to stay put and not squeal to be let out at regular intervals.
The lack of social interaction has led me to, in desperation, do crazy depraved things like…. watch television. Yes. I never watch television. This dislike is compounded by the fact that we have four televisions in the house. And three adults who need to listen to television at ear cracking volume. This is also occasioned by the fact that all the three adults have some deficit in the hearing abilities, which they compound by cranking up the volume. The child follows in their august footsteps and bags one screen of his own where he needs the volume cranked up too. At 8 pm every evening, the house is a auditory nightmare. I run from room to room in desperation for some quiet. The mater in law will have her tearjerker serials on at full volume while she snores gently on the sofa in the living room. The man will be staring adoringly at CNBC TV 18 where incredibly boring men and women will be going on and on about incredibly boring heiroglyphs of numbers, and speak in a language which is far removed from English as I learnt it back in school. The third bedroom. Dont ask. And I will not speak. Suffice to say, the volume levels there are so terrible that the brat’s tuition teacher has to request me to get the door shut. And the brat adds to the chaos when he gets his chance at the television, with the Power Rangers going gung ho at various plastic permafiends with spawn of my womb adding his two bits to the special effect sounds in the air. I’ve gotten addicted to movies. HBO. World Movies. NDTV Lumiere. Brilliant movies, with quaint plots, the kinds of which I’m never going to be able to officially get home and watch in peace if the man and the kid have anything to do with it. I’m actually sitting through entire movies without switching channels and going straight to FTV. It must be ageing too. I’ve finally accepted the fact that I am not of FTV proportions and this is definitely the sartorial equivalent of Little Lotta wanting to do ballet.
Talking about sartorial things, you reckon they could figure out fancier masks. You know, in colours that one could choose to coordinate with the rest of one’s ensemble. Maybe with aromatherapy benefits. And some skin conditioning while one is at it. And sunscreen.
Seriously though, everyone, stay safe, wash your hands often, keep hydrated, be sensible and go to the doctor if you feel you have any symptoms. As for me, I’m scouring the movie lists in today’s newspaper. Perhaps this could be the start of a new career as a professional movie reviewer.