Musings.

Feels good to know I’m not the only one. Comfortable, at least. As I stand in the Metro, I overhear a girl (who looks my age) speaking to somebody over the phone, complaining about the daily grind of life and how it involves just work, work and managing to get on somehow every day. Nothing else. It may as well have been me talking. The words were hers, she was the one expressing her thoughts, but I could wholeheartedly empathise with her since I’m also sailing (and close to capsizing) in the same boat.

Lately, life has just been about work, assignments, deadlines. Trawling the interwebz for possible stories, thinking them through, digging up contacts, speaking to people over the phone or email or in person. Feeling dejected as a story idea is shot down by those in the chair, in power, with the authority to think of a thousand possible loopholes; in the process, removing every little bit of air from my bloated angle I may have perused for weeks. Telling myself I’ll surely make it big someday. Then the grind of the everyday chores: Thinking long and hard about both lunch and dinner (since I do the cooking, cleaning, laundry, dishes, etc etc). You see, I’m my own maid. I can afford one, I earn enough, but none of them sticks. They complain about my odd working hours. I wake up around 7am and leave by 8:30am. But coming home can be prickly. On good days, it’s 7-8pm. When production starts or we’re saddled with work, it could be anywhere after 9pm until midnight. And then, there are the assignments. Sometime lasting for two days, at times over a week. So you see, unless you’re a regular, or the maid is a saint, chances are she won’t really understand the issues you’re facing and adjust according to your needs. Even she has houses to attend to. She has her own issues, and whatever life it is. She is a maid, not your mother.

So everything, for now, revolves around a few things. Catching that early train means leaving home perfectly on time. That means waking up on time, though I might want to sleep a little more at times. Football has long been sacrificed at the altar of this lost cause. Apart from important Champions League matches and Liverpool ones, I haven’t seen a full late-night game from quite a long time now – seven-eight months I reckon. This is a massive surprise for someone who was in the habit of watching every single game telecast on telly – PL, La Liga, Serie A, Bundesliga, WC/Olympic qualifiers, etc etc. At times, I’ve missed some really interesting matches and exquisite goals. But I satisfy myself by watching footage on YouTube.

Then I’ve to think of food, both lunch and dinner. Breakfast is mostly taken care of, and pretty healthy (from what I’d like to believe) – milk and cereal, a fruit, a glass of juice. It’s the main meals I’ve to fidget about. Lunch has to be packed. Leftovers from the previous night, mostly. But if I wasn’t in the mood or didn’t have energy to cook the last night, it’s mostly a sandwich – mayo or peanut butter (like Calvin, I prefer the crunchy one). Not exactly your healthy, wholesome meal but right now, anything suffices for me. Which is again not ideal because I’ve been unwell for quite sometime now, and losing a lot of blood. Which means I really need to factor in nutrition somehow (however impossible it may be). I satisfy myself by thinking that I’m having a lot of fruit juice, yoghurt, fruits, etc. But most of them are packed and processed, so I doubt the veracity of the ingredient any which way. Also, I can’t eat eggs right now (a major source of proteins in the past). So that is also something missing from my diet.

Health has taken a serious beating. I’m mostly dull and listless these days, apart from staring at the computer screen for a prolonged period of time. There’s no form of exercise, no extra-curricular activities (though I’m trying hard at the French). I’ve almost stopped writing (apart from the pieces for the magazine obviously, none of which I’m enjoying right now), all my creativity has been consigned to a dustbin in my head. I don’t sketch, I don’t paint, I don’t write, I don’t skate, I don’t play the guitar (it’s snugly wrapped in its case). Last I held a pen and a sheet of paper was almost a month back, when I randomly drew a few sketches of Sonic The Hedgehog and Courage the Cowardly Dog.

This is why I want to quit. No, resign. I don’t really like the word ‘quit’, I don’t quit. I’m not a “quitter”, but there are times when your health and life have to be put above everything else. You need to gain control over your life and look at the bigger picture. I don’t want to have spoilt my health irrevocably because of a stupid job. No way, sir. I’m much more than that. I don’t like quitting or losing (very much Monica Gellar-esque), but tough choices do need to be made once in a while.

P.S. Wrote this in the train, when I usually read the day’s newspaper. Wasn’t in a mood to, so penned my thought (rather, typed them out on a Qwerty keypad).

Song of the Day: ‘Bigger than my body’ (John Mayer)