My Sunday
I guess that once you had a nice wild outing on Saturday you should be prepared to pay it with you full-fledged Sunday. The specific price would be depending on the amount of Sunday fun quantified in the hours spent, alcohol consumed, songs shouted, decibel tolerated, dances performed etc. Yet, however annoying your headache and low your energy are it’s damn nice to have a quite Sunday at home – once in a while. You are not a tourist in your own life, after all – there is not need to run around the major landmarks to make sure you’ve got pictures of yourself in front of them all. You may take it easy and stay where you like for the sake of pleasure.
My room is dark. Being located in between the other rooms it lacks any doors or windows. Waking up is always confusing as you’d never tell the time. It is permanently dark. I am feeling my mobile somewhere on my enormously wide bed and it cruelly informs me that I’ve already skipped a great deal of this Sunday. It’s 2.15 pm. I get up and realize that my head is too heavy today to carry it on my broken body. Painkillers exist, but I hate taking pills unless I am dieing. Let the body sort it out on its own. I haven’t done anything extremely destructive to it this time, so it should manage well.
The first minutes of semi-unconsciousness that I usually experience right after awakening are gone. I am heading to the nearby market to buy some fruits for my breakfast. Just now, when writing it down, I have realized that I went out in the same outfit that I had on me when sleeping. In India you definitely pick up some gypsy habits.
Once outside I realized what a warm day I am missing out. After all those yet cold mornings and already chilly evenings this warm day appears as a blessing. So more pity, however unenviable, it seems to spend it inside the house.
I am still waking up when doing my shopping and by the time I got back home I am awake, meaning open to the sounds, smells, happening around me. Breakfast on the gorgeous terrace, indifferent listening to the flatmates’ conversations regarding the today’s plans. My own one comes as a very plain and obvious.
After a short while the flatmates are gone in the pursuit of their various plans. Sinthya got back to her bed. I am grabbing piles of print-outs, books, journals (all on gender issues, believe or not) and dispose myself at our almost luxurious (if not so dirty) terrace.
It is here, on this terrace where I learn to concentrate. Concentrate irrespective to anything around. To all the neighbors relaxing on their terraces and staring, to all those passing by, staring and catcalling, to all those passing by with their vegetable and fruit stalls and shouting “Bananas are there. Grapes are there”, to all those cars, auto-and velo-rikshaws, passing by and horning. Concentrate and read. This is great!
As expected it got dark and cold just in some hours. Good incentive to move inside. I’ve got some laundry (stubbornly refusing the services of our maid) on my agenda followed by dinner. One of the most home … not cozy.. but rather authentically home dinners that you could make for yourself is the one from the yesterday’s leftovers. Well cooked food gets even nicer overnight… Laundry, food – all in complete silence and ultimate somnambulist-like state. time to break it though – so I open my laptop and start typing…
My room is dark. Being located in between the other rooms it lacks any doors or windows. Waking up is always confusing as you’d never tell the time. It is permanently dark. I am feeling my mobile somewhere on my enormously wide bed and it cruelly informs me that I’ve already skipped a great deal of this Sunday. It’s 2.15 pm. I get up and realize that my head is too heavy today to carry it on my broken body. Painkillers exist, but I hate taking pills unless I am dieing. Let the body sort it out on its own. I haven’t done anything extremely destructive to it this time, so it should manage well.
The first minutes of semi-unconsciousness that I usually experience right after awakening are gone. I am heading to the nearby market to buy some fruits for my breakfast. Just now, when writing it down, I have realized that I went out in the same outfit that I had on me when sleeping. In India you definitely pick up some gypsy habits.
Once outside I realized what a warm day I am missing out. After all those yet cold mornings and already chilly evenings this warm day appears as a blessing. So more pity, however unenviable, it seems to spend it inside the house.
I am still waking up when doing my shopping and by the time I got back home I am awake, meaning open to the sounds, smells, happening around me. Breakfast on the gorgeous terrace, indifferent listening to the flatmates’ conversations regarding the today’s plans. My own one comes as a very plain and obvious.
After a short while the flatmates are gone in the pursuit of their various plans. Sinthya got back to her bed. I am grabbing piles of print-outs, books, journals (all on gender issues, believe or not) and dispose myself at our almost luxurious (if not so dirty) terrace.
It is here, on this terrace where I learn to concentrate. Concentrate irrespective to anything around. To all the neighbors relaxing on their terraces and staring, to all those passing by, staring and catcalling, to all those passing by with their vegetable and fruit stalls and shouting “Bananas are there. Grapes are there”, to all those cars, auto-and velo-rikshaws, passing by and horning. Concentrate and read. This is great!
As expected it got dark and cold just in some hours. Good incentive to move inside. I’ve got some laundry (stubbornly refusing the services of our maid) on my agenda followed by dinner. One of the most home … not cozy.. but rather authentically home dinners that you could make for yourself is the one from the yesterday’s leftovers. Well cooked food gets even nicer overnight… Laundry, food – all in complete silence and ultimate somnambulist-like state. time to break it though – so I open my laptop and start typing…
posted by Olga Tikhonova | 9:34 am
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