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Radhika7
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Name: Radhika
Location: Mumbai, India
Birthday: 2/27/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: Rain. Clouds. Earlobes. My own private mountain.
Message: message me
Member Since:
1/7/2005
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| I'm still not over the fact that they make me empty out all the water from my water bottle before boarding airplanes, but they very happily let me carry 3 lighters and a matchbox into the cabin.
Because, apparently, the suspicious liquid in my water bottle is more likely to cause a fire than apparatus whose reason for being is TO SET THINGS ON FIRE.
Whatever.
I'm home.
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| Has anyone else ever noticed how the Coke they serve you on flights always ALWAYS tastes faintly of... shaving cream? It doesn't matter what airline you're flying, either; I've been experimenting. Well, not shaving cream, actually; having never really tasted it (I SWEAR) I can't be certain, but more the idea of shaving cream. Maybe this is one of those things that makes sense only in my head. Old people, I'm terrified of them. It's totally illogical and more than a little mean, but I don't know what to do around them. Do you know those people who seem to be old-people-mind-readers? Always knowing exactly what they're going to do a second before it gets obvious to the rest of the world, thus being the awesome-old-people-helper-outers. Yeah, I'm the exact opposite of that. I've been known, as some of you have been witness to, to seriously offend people by offering them/ failing to offer them the reserved-for-old-people chairs, ignoring their pleas for assistance and even causing them to fall over on occasion. So now, instead of trying to help, I move away slowly whenever I see an old person in my vicinity. Of course, that being said, once I made a decision to stay away, they have begun to gravitate towards me. I'm now the one asked to help get the bag down from the cabin baggage area for the little lady sitting across the aisle (who I knocked on the arm with my camera bag while doing so.) It is my duty to make sure uncle over there doesn't hit his head on the top of the car while getting in (it knocks into my hand just as hard, instead.) *sigh* You know, it could be some sort of special ice they use on planes that's making it be that way. | | |
| You know what makes me so sad? Being in the totally right place, at the totally wrong time. I'm so happy to be here, but at the same time, what I want more than anything else is just to be home. *sigh* | | |
| Habits, they're hard to break. Even the stupid ones, that you hate. Routine is just too comfortable, to comforting, to want to be free from.
So, even though you hate it, you will wake up every morning, brush your teeth (blegh) and go put on your face so that you can face the world. You will go to a job that pretty much drains you of all happiness, tarring your lungs as often as possible just because it's an excuse to get away. You will entertain yourself in whatever way you can, including, but not limited to, befriending inanimate objects that should not be found in an office, but are, anyway. You will go home, bum around until you find some food, and then sleep, to strengthen yourself enough to deal with the next day. Occasionally, for a change *gasps*, you will find some way to entertain yourself, that involves, of course, massive droppage of money. You will go home feeling comforted by the fact that you're too drunk to care/ less bored than you could have been.
And you go through this, day after day, only because you know that all other options *must* be worse. Because wouldn't it totally suck if they weren't? And to know for sure, we must be stupid, jump out there and *gasps again* try.
And along marches that day, when you decide that flinging yourself off the side of the building sounds like a good idea. Quickly, so that you don't have too much time to process it, you're off. You glide along for a few seconds, euphoric. Then, you begin to see the lumps on the ground, getting larger and larger as you get closer and closer.You could land just fine, but it certainly doesn't look likely right now... You whack yourself, scrambling for a ledge to grab on to, somewhere.
And then...
And then you find yourself, the next morning, brushing your teeth (still blegh) and putting on a brand new face for a brand new world, going to a brand new job that drains you of all your happiness, but knowing that you were, after all, right.
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| My computer tells me it's 1:57 am.
I just finished cleaning and marinating chicken, so that it can be cooked tomorrow. (Yeah, I *can* be domestic.)
Cleaning chicken isn't the most pleasant thing I've done - scrubbing off the leftover blood stains, pulling off excess fat and random vein-ey things...
The paste I used for the marinade base behaved like turd. It was brown, nasty smelling, semi-solid stuff that slithered out of the packet and fell into banana-shaped piles on the platter.
My hands insist on smelling of dead bird. And marinade poo. But more of dead bird.
With lime on top.
I'm *so* looking forward to lunch tomorrow.
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