No communication.

Peaceful.

Shredded Mushroom and Chillies

..is what my omelette contained. What it didn't contain include tomatoes, cheese and bacon. On that subject, don't you completely adore that unevenly soft and velvety texture of raw mushrooms? Tantalising. If a certain crpyptically analytical feminist were to be here, she'd allege latent lesbianism and link it to my food choices. Whats latent 'huh?

I discovered that being alone and lonely are similar but not the same feelings. A night-full of silence, disrupted only by the occasional sibilance of the cold wind and nocturnal congress of a multitude of crickets, is perhaps the best anecdote for a day's worth of polysyllablic rumblings. Instead of fermenting in the the decrepitude of unmentionable events I chose to read occassional bits of Kafka, eat banana fritters and inhale a lot of steam(clogged nostrils/sinus complications et al).

Work is tedious as usual. As a language trainer my minmium requirement from the trainees is that they be aware of what "language" is before they step into my batch. Alas, thats one requirement too many.
"What hell's can I do you for?"
"Avoid cuss words, its impolite and I suspect the word order isn't exactly accurate."
"But, Madam, I am only asking the question they asked me to ask."
Errrfffmmmppph
"Ah...you mean what else can I do for you?".
"Thats what I said, no. What hell's can I do you for?"
Nevermind.

From professional suffocation my respite for the day was a horrendously gossipy internet session with an ex-colleague who reluctantly but surely gave me the skinny on the kids from my previous organization. Apparently swapping spouses is no longer the sole domain of Hollywood echeleons, middle class Mumbai is catching up. I am convinced am meant to write a distasteful but money-spinning memoir very soon. The controversies are incredulous and so entirely pen-worthy.

Detail will be divulged. In a bit.

Updated(aka the severe paucity of any worthwhile meeting to sleep through)

Cold.
Not is an Isabella Rossellini on the cover of an uber-chic French publication way but more in a my-nether-regions-are--now-dispersing-ice-cubes way. The immediate manager is foaming at the mouth because her inadequacies are now seeing the light of the day. Its miraculous that this behemoth doesn't collapse like a house of cards considering the number of inefficient people we have promoted in the last couple of months. She tartly messaged me an over the top sarcastic email that was an unfortunate copy of one of my one. Sent to her a day ago. And she is structuring a presentation on email etiquette . Touche!
By the by, three of my delegates haven't shown up for training and the reasons are as listed. Pick the fabricated one.

• I am alone at home and since there is noone to dress my niece for school, I will show up post lunch.
• I hit a dog on my way to work and now the animal activists have taken me to the precinct.
• I got up late coz I wasn't aware of the schedule change.

Yes, you are right. It's the last one. Now will you swap places with me while I melt a bucket of Rocky Road and sip it ever so gently with oily mithai on the side?

Did I mention about bout the young onion I am often forced to endure at work?

The Norweigan is getting terribly incongruous and prosaic. And here we thought he had some undiscovered promise, showed latent talent for the funnies. None, though. He refuses to entertain and is currently unfurling his limbs at the other training facility, while pouting bout the tragic 20+ years he has managed to wreak havoc on this harlequin planet. The man has suddenly morphed into a bickering biddy from Elizabethan times grumbling bout creating a "cocoon to shield from the human kind". And to think, he was almost cute in his desolation. This is what swapping of spit and saliva afflicting bacteria do to a normally effervescent soul.

Also, men make trite women. No, really, they do.

This just in. The sordid ex is getting hitched next year, the blasted flying girl cum childhood wank buddy. Apparently size doesn't matter. Not to her atleast. I am contemplating more reproachful things to say but all the ill-will around me hasn't inspired my inner Medusa yet. Wait a minute. A long minute, that is.

Right Now..

I am eating frozen yoghurt and listening to Azure Ray’s “New Resolution”. Its the end-of-the-business-year nervousness thats grinding my teeth or maybe the super-cooling of our air conditioning system. I don’t know and currently couldn’t be bothered by such banal details.Not when I am admiring a life size poster of Gale Harold tonguing a safety pin or something equally mundane and office like. Also contemplating the possiblity of having sex for money except I am too lazy to wax my legs(and other unmentionable parts) on a regular basis and though my usually stiletto clad feet will confirm otherwise, high heels are the enemy. Punters don’t look for torn-jeans-flannel-flaunting non-bleached language specialists, do they?In other un-newsworthy stories, I picked at Outlook Traveler’s issue about travel to Burma and Sri Lanka(till 12:30 am, mind you and if I am dedicating my wee hours to anything that doesn’t remotely qualify as chicklit or porn or chicklit porn then am deadly serious) and am exceptionally tempted to seek a hideaway till the appraisal months at work are over.
Food is bleh. Morning raga is almost over.
How are you feeling today?


From last week's messages:
"I committed gluttony and can now finally configure the dimensions of the seven deadly sins. The chocolate torte was so sinful, I am sure St Peter will never allow me entry through the pearly gates purely on that (de)merit. It was like food sex, except for the latter of that combination."

Vile, I tell you!