Composition II

Hi!

 

Although I wasn't exactly drunk last night, or time-pressed, I was just too unable to get to the laptop to type out 'something' to you. Yes, I was short of content, or, too content perhaps :) I was bang in the middle of a much required happy-weekend. So beautiful it was. This very room peopled with love and laughter, and coziness and warmth and ac and charts and colours. All that remains now is a grey suitcase.

I made a chart all afternoon yesterday, lazying over it and loving it, and I am listening to this SRK-songs playlist (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WjOGbmS3Px0), amazed at how it is an impetus to my productivity, if not effectivity, and I am not attending calls and I am dreading another week beginning a morose Monday and I am battling innumerous anxieties strangely aggravated by the random readings of Plath I do at all times I am online and I have lost track of why I had begun with the charts...I hate Plath sometimes. She is too #whatever. Hashtags are fun. She unnerves me with her actuality. It is too similar.

There is a strange solace I find in lettering on charts with watercolours. The grip over the brush defines my being. I sing! And sometimes do a little-whoopy-dance when the tail of an F delights me, or the crown of a R enlivens the sentence. It is so different from the 'noble profession of teaching'. One can easily replace profession with performance and it would still mean the same, to me.

 

I had hit the keys with an intent to compose a letter to ____. I will, tomorrow :) I know I am currently running behind schedule in my blogging-a-day promise to self, and I also know I will make up for the lack but what I did not know was that it would have this itch in me to return to it, as if I owe a daily feed to this space for mutual benefit.

 

I feel like washing the wall with colours of sorrow, building blocks of joy. Something like Klee's Tunisian Gardens (http://www.wikiart.org/en/paul-klee/southern-tunisian-gardens-1919). I feel like commanding Friday evening to begin all over again, or, Monday to not. I am feeling too much. Not good. Time to behave. Speaking of behaviour,  do you know what became of the concluding prayer in school, "Mary our Help, Pray for Us"? Marry a Hell, Pay for Us!

 

I will shred the paper now, which had the list of all the to-do's for this Sunday evening. Immense relief. Composed.