Friday, 14 December 2012

In which I resurface

In December, I really try very hard to slow down and think about things. Of course, also train for the Mumbai Marathon, and go through whatever evaluations need to be gone through for work. Some years, I end up traveling - at least in the early part of the month - and sometimes that works out well and sometimes it doesn't.

This time, December crept up on me, I didn't even realise it. I was so completely engulfed by the Wipro Chennai marathon. And then I woke up and saw that my grades submission date was on my head. I barely managed to finish that before I had to go to away to Pan IIT. I guess on the heads of a reasonably intense semester, it was a bit much.

My body shut down. I woke up on Monday with the intention of a Core workout. But I just couldn't. Twenty four hours in which I scared the family by barely waking to eat a couple of mouthfuls of curd rice (I slept through a power cut). A couple of very low energy days spent subsisting on curd rice and battling that ever present headache. And finally I feel like myself again now.

The core workout this morning was less intense than I intended - as usual I ran out of time. I have a last pile of books that I am working through - using bookcollectorz to catalogue (that has been a fun experience - despite the frustrations possibly due to my iffy wireless). I have a few evaluations and a paper to read. And a bunch of grocery shopping to attend to.

Not a big deal of a day up ahead - except later tonight when my aunt and uncle arrive. I didn't go drop the child off at school today since husband person had a meeting that side of town. The house feels very quiet after they left. Kitchen knives I hear in the background. A broom being ineffectively used on the floor. A bucket dragged around. No words.

The best thing of all is that I know that right below where I am sitting (at the dining table - my favourite spot in the house). Directly below. I have wall-lined shelves filled (to the brim, almost) with my precious books. All sorted out. Women authors sit together. Rushdie, Ghosh and Naipaul hang in the other corner. Well thumbed Wodehouses are there. Ah the words accumulated there.

What else does a girl need? 

1 comment:

dipali said...

The house sounds wonderful, especially the bookshelves!