A sad state of affairs

This morning as I walked to work there was a decided chill in the air, so much that I had to button up my jacket and huddle into it for comfort. Further south, I could feel my toes turn
(un)comfortably numb. I reluctantly conceded that it's time to be out with the sandals, and in with the boots and closed-toeds.
Oh autumn, why hast thou forsaken us?!
Goodbye toesies, see you next May.

Entirely unrelated:

Yesterday I sent out an email to all the employees with some clarificatory (??? - too lazy to check for correct word) information. Later that afternoon, Seagull came to me and asked me about exactly the information I'd distributed.
"Don't you ever read my emails?!" I grumbled.
"Oh, I love reading your emails," he responded. "They always make me laugh."

Hmmph. I'd almost rather he didn't.

Somewhere, a heart was broken

As I was walking down the street yesterday, I noticed a young man carrying a large bouquet of roses. Aww, I thought. Lucky lass. He was pacing nervously back and forth in front of a building entrance.

The tension in his air was palpable. First date? I wondered. An anniversary? A birthday? A marriage proposal??? I was instantly lured by the drama, sad sap that I am.

NO, I didn't just stop and stare. Please. I'm too poised for that. Instead, I pretended my laces had come undone, and assiduously untied-and-retied them three times while waiting for the next step to unfold. Yes, my pathetic slyness knows no bounds. I know, I know - I should stop gleaning vicariously off other people and just find some drama in my own life. But there's only so much one can blog about new sunglasses.

The guy was obviously agonising over something, he raked his hands through his hair a few times, gritted his teeth, and kept rubbing his palms on his jeans. His turns back and forth had a tense vehemence to them. These are flowers to make up for a fight, I concluded. Awww, lucky girl. She's going to be so thrilled, and hopefully it'll be okay again and -

He suddenly threw the flowers onto the ground, deliberately stamped on them, crushing all the flowers, and stormed off. I stared after him unabashedly, mouth agape. He had deviated from the plot, thrown it to the winds and stomped all over my happy ending. And I thought of the person still upstairs, who didn't even know this had happened. Probably waiting for him to come and apologise. Probably hoping for some flowers.

Suddenly, I felt guilty to have witnessed something that went so wrong.

Fancy new sunnies

Milo's entry on binge-shopping yesterday got me thinking about my latest impulse purchase - a pair of sunglasses. You know. Cos with summer ending and all, it's a practical acquisition.

They might not be Versace or goldframed, but I love my new sunnies. Obviously, as luck would have it, right after I bought them we were plagued by a bout of cloudy/rainy weather. So I've been patiently biding my time, waiting for a sunny day when I could whip them out and strut my whippersnapper act on the streets. So you can imagine my excitement when I peered out the window this morning and was greeted by glorious sunshine.

Ok here's the thing. I've picked myself up a pair of those light, nearly-transparent shades. I don't know what I expected of the secret protective technology behind this, but well, I certainly didn't expect - transparency. As it turns out, the shades don't really block the sun.

But they DO have a wide frame that is something of an impediment to my peripheral vision. So although they didn't block the sunlight, the did block the large gap in the pavestones which I subsequently stumbled in, sending my sandal flying into the middle of the street. And they did block a view of the woman standing next to me, so that I almost elbowed her mistakenly in the face, bless her heart. So I have a few blindspots I'm going to have to get used to.

I suppose I could return them, but the problem is I LOVE them. I LURRVVE them. If I were American enough, I might even say I heart them. It's an aesthetics vs. practicality battle, and, well, Practicality ain't my middle name.

Besides, they feel so great (and we all know this is the real purpose of sunglasses anyway) perched on top of the head.

Bloggeurosis: Part I

Bloggeurosis. Yep. Neurosis of the bloggeur.
I've always had a semi-obsessive approach to life. And sometimes get so absorbed by an activity that it starts to take over my mind. And that's what's been happening with blogging lately.

As I go through daily life, I find myself, back in the nether regions of my mind, constantly testing incidents and moments for their blog-worthiness. Like chatting with Jeet as we cooked dinner this evening. She made a funny comment, and I caught my mind thinking, hmmm, I wonder if I can write a blog about that.
Nope, I told myself firmly.
But then another part of my mind started up: what about the diced tofu, can we write about that?
Or what about the way Rohinton's so engrossed in America's Top Model, wouldn't that make a funny entry?
The mind can be a many-faced goblin. Oy, pipe down, Li'l Ficali, I had to tell myself.

Sometimes, the simplest of activities can grow to take on a life of their own, and then there's no controlling them. Like take the MSN IM smileys for instance. One can only assume they were designed to imitate real human expression. But they have developed such an iconic presence, that by some perverse reversal of nature, I sometimes catch myself imitating the smileys rather than the other way around! Seriously. Like an over-dramatic bawling when the pettiest of things aren't going my way. Or making the :s face when baffled. You're right, it isn't pretty. But now it's become reflexive, and I have no control. I'm worried for the day I start sticking my tongue out at work in a cheeky :P

But back to bloggeurosis. It's not just the constant examination of life's daily foibles for blogworthy content. It is also the irrational excitement when someone's posted a comment. The hasty click on the comment link, and - oh no it's goddamn spam again.

And this ain't the last you'll hear of bloggeurosis nuther. In fact, for Part II, queue Macklaine.

** UPDATE **
Macklaine was supposed to do a follow-up post to this, but has decided he now can't, citing 'bloggeurosis' as the reason. So I guess it also includes some form of writer's block.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire

Early yesterday evening, Seagull casually sauntered into my office. "Aren't you going home yet?" he asked.
"Noooo," I groaned, banging my palm against my forehead. "I just have so much work to get done."

Turns out both Seagull and I had to stay late at work, so ultimate frisbee was out of the question. Thank GAWD. I'd started to get a bit angsty about it as late afternoon approached. Of course, there's next Monday. I know I can't escape it forever.

But it's good to know, that for this week at least, I still have a shred of dignity left.

Later that evening, there was a refreshing light drizzle as I walked home from the station, so I decided to go for my daily walk. Halfway through, without the decency of a warning, the drizzle suddenly turned into a downpour. Wouldn't you know it, Hurricane Rita right on my head. Unprepared for this as I was, there was naught to be done but turn around and brace myself for the worst of it. I scrunched up my nose to stem the flow of raindrops rolling off of it onto my chin. I must have been making a wierd face without realising, because I noticed a passerby give me a startled look. Quickly re-arranging my features into a degree of normalcy, I set off on the sloshy trundle home.

Reaching out

What does one do when a friend's in a bit of a spot? When you want to reach out to help, when it pains you to watch them grieve, and you wish, somehow, you knew the thing to make it better.

I usually find myself trapped within my own ineptitude. Wanting to say just the right word, do just the right thing, but paralysed by my own hesitancy. Of what? The fear of doing the one thing that might make it worse. The fear of being presumptious in assuming they may want my involvement, or that I may be able to help. And I reach out a tentative hand, but before they've even seen it, I withdraw it quickly again.

Each time, I find myself wavering at the bring of should-I-or-shouldn't-I. And suddenly, even as the thoughts are still swirling in my mind, the moment's passed, and I can't offer anymore. And they've done it on their own, they're okay again. But it just might have been so much easier if I'd only offered to help.

And I think to myself retrospectively - How ridiculous, I should have just offered. What could I have possibly lost. Next time I'll do it right. Next time.

What do you do?

Date with myself

As soon as I woke up yesterday, before I'd even gotten out of bed, a glance at the thunderclouds outside confirmed that it was an 'at home' day. So what should we do today, Ficali, I said to myself. The world's our oyster.

With Rohinton and Jeet away for the weekend, the apartment had a larger-than-life kind of stillness to it.

I absorbed the silence for a while. Then, revelling in the absolute stillness around me, I did an hour of yoga. Then, feeling lithe and energised from the yoga, I did an hour of pilates. Then I groaned and cursed myself for having gone overboard in my enthusiasm. How had Macklaine so eloquently put it? Hoisted by my own petard.

The other day, Milo had asked me out of the blue, "do you draw or paint?". His question reminded me that I hadn't touched my sketchbook or colours since moving from London earlier in the year, and all of sudden I started to miss it terribly. So yesterday I nipped to the local art store across the street and did an impulse shop for sketching pencils, a sketchbook, water colours, brushes, palette, the works. Fortified with my new acquisitions, I spent all day listening to music and painting pictures.

Not that they're any good, mind you. I'm totally unartistic, and wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression. But painting is just so therapeutic and relaxing. And it was just such a perfect day.

Things that make you go hmmm.

Just cos it's a trendy bar is no reason to build in the bathrooms a convoluted labrynth of tall plants and fountains. Just cos it's a trendy bar is no reason to have washbasins disguised as fountains, where the water emerges from concealed spouts, when you press a concealed button.

There's no need to make it more complicated than necessary. Especially when people go there to - you know - drink.

The first time, I wandered around in the bathroom area a couple of times before the kindly attendant showed me the way.
The second time, I gave the attendant a jaunty wave. "I'm practised now," I told him with a smile. And walked right into the broom closet.

Just like the old days

10 pm on a Friday night, and I've just got home. No way is that a big night out. No way should it feel like a big night out. But the combination of lack of sleep, lack of dinner and a couple of generous mojitos can go a long way towards distorting reality.

Ilajna had emailed me first thing in the morning. "Fancy a couple of drinks here?" she'd asked, sending a link to a fasionable West Village bar, which I subsequently found out often featured in Sex in the City.
"Sure," I'd said without more than a cursory glance at the site. I've a lot of faith in the trendy locations Ilajna suggests. We sat enjoying the pleasant summer evening on the rooftop garden until the faint autumnal drizzle turned into large plopping drops of warm rain. We were lucky to find a cozy nook in the indoors section downstairs.

There suddenly seemed so much to talk about and catch up on, and it made me realise how long it had actually been since we'd last had a proper tete-a-tete. We hadn't had a chance to get together since we both started our new jobs, and for the first time, I missed unemployment. And also for the first time, I got to see Ilajna's much-heard-of portfolio. It's funny when you just know your friend's an artist, but totally different when you actually see the art. And it simply blew me away.

"Will you decorate my home for me one day?" I asked her, overcome by the ingenuity of the designs.
"Sure!" she beamed happily.
A couple of hours later, as we were heading our separate ways, "don't forget the party at Paul's next weekend," she reminded.
I grinned. It was great to be back to the olde routine again.

Multiplying like rabbits

This afternoon Big Boss M from the higher upper legions suddenly popped his head around my door. "I just wanted to let you know you're doing a great job," he said.
"Oh, thanks!" I beamed. I'm always thrilled with a compliment, few and far between as they come.

Little did he know, though, that I'd been about to post this:

Multiplying like Rabbits

Emails in my inbox
Growing
By the hundred

There's no keeping up
There's no keeping track

The ones at the bottom
Long forgotten
Lost in the black hole
Hope they weren't important

Time for some
Emergency damage control
Like autoforward
To someone else's mailbox

Maybe the guy
Sitting there in the corner
Never liked him much anyway
Heh heh heh

Just kidding. I'm on top of things really. Honest.
(Spoken like Napoleon on the eve of Waterloo)