I am having one of those series of days (sometimes called a week) where I’m generally feeling cranky and unwell.
The unwell part is slightly worrying, that is true. My head feels heavy and my stomach is generally in a state of rebellion, feeling either too bloated or too empty. It worries me since my eating habits are not as atrocious as they once were (eek Hyderabad), but it’s also the smoking and complete dearth of physical activity. I almost definitely have a thyroid problem considering my mother, aunts, and grandmother all do, but I still haven’t moved ass and gotten a blood test done to confirm it. In my head I think I have cancer. In reality, I am acutely stressed out and my body is responding in an equally unhappy fashion.
Sundays are by far my least favourite days in the month. I drown in envy when I hear normal people (normal being not me) discuss their weekends. Considering I work on Saturdays. I don’t have a weekend anyway, but I am so glad I don’t.
Weekends for me aren’t sleeping in, long lazy brunches, lying in front of the television, perhaps going out for an hour or two but returning to the lethargic cocoon that is home. Weekends for me are at least 12 stilted hours with family. Sundays are when I wish desperately that I had my mother back in Chennai, because even though it is never as bad as I fear, it is so fucking difficult to try and get through time at home without it bordering on awkward or stilted.
I’m depressed. I love all the nice little vignettes when I am with Vinay and I meet friends and go out, and yes, there are lots of those. But otherwise, I am fucking up at work because I’m not doing the stuff that I should be, because I’m unable to focus. I’m tired at home because I want to be with V and I don’t know how long I have to wait to get there. I’m unhappy with my body and my health, but I’m too stressed and full of excuses to change anything.
I miss my mother and I want to get married.
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