Brake lights

The back attaches itself to the car seat, in anguish and boredom. It’s fine. It has resigned itself to the boring wind through  the pockmarked roads of my city. The arm extends, just as tense as it is bored to the steering wheel, fingers gripping the steering in a mix of lethargy and urgency. The kind of urgency boiling water has as soon as it reaches the boiling point. The kind of urgency, that will die out in vapours of resignation. 
And the eyes restless and vaguely registering everything, flick about, returning to the red light. Bathed in the brake lights red wash, that pours through windows and windshield, a temporary life breeds in the red concoction. A life which suspends itself on the impatient, yet resigned wait of a hundred tired eyes. A life which is red, has the temperament of the faintest mist and the personality of a weakly plotted murder scene from a B grade novel. The eyes flick back to the signal and the brake lights, emit their last fierce roar and the signal clears. The red vanishes like a lunatic’s days of lucidity. 

Ms Ihavethedayoff

It was another one of those winter mornings. An endless gurgle of my complaints. This hurts. This hurts. This hurts.

I still woke up, it was already late. I had to get ready and get going. Wooooh! Yeah. I do a little stretch and a jig, a little cinematic bounce up and down. Let’s get this party going.  That’s when a sharp spike of pain from the depths of misery says hello to me. Oh right. Hye. I am on my periods. My incentive dips to subzero. I will mope throughout the day. I don’t want to be positive. No, I won’t do yoga

When I am deciding what to wear after I come out of the shower, half frozen, my phone rings. I am annoyed at the name. I want to snap. I want to tell the person its morning and I don’t take work calls before 10. I still pick up.

“Hello, Good morning”

“Good morning, Zeenath. We are given an off today..  so.. “ I stopped listening. After appropriate amount of time, I said,  “ Yay thanks. Bye!”

I throw my phone on the bed, quickly tip toe to it, make sure the cracked screen is still only cracked and not shattered, I go back to my happy ballet routine. I don’t know any ballet. I just flap my arms about. I have long arms and they are very flexible so they sometimes look graceful. * Slices an arch through the air* See?  No? Okay.

I complete my happy ballet routine and move through the day with renewed energy and a zealous appetite. I don’t need to diet. Not today. And when on periods, it doesn’t count. You are feeding the monster, not yourself. Its forgiven calories. Yes, even the cheese. My monster likes cheese.