Whoever said fights make people come closer must have said so under the influence of cheapjack alcohol and distasteful drugs for there is no buzz of excitement or anything, just a bad hangover to nurse, that’s all. I for one seem to have a doctorate in this department. Put me in an awkward situation, I smile and ignore as much as I possibly can at first, throw a harmless (yet sarcastic) fit, bid a supersonic clarification as a final counter and when all else fails, start a verbal war. You see, I have the shortest fuse known to mankind wedded to a vicious tongue. So, our wars are everything but honorable. It’s ugly & offensive; painful & quick. No one dies but the soul chokes up a few times and picks itself up in no time but somehow, the pieces don’t fit the way they used to- there is a word for it I think, I don’t know. Patience may not be one of strong suits but I always (always!) make an effort to see the other side of the argument despite seething blood gushing through my veins. Even when I don’t have an urge to justify, I feel I owe it to my sheer existence as a woman to stand up for what I believe in at all times. As though, a clever (or a loud) comeback somehow justifies the fact that a bazillion womanlikes from motherland are hushed without sound logic making way for a patriarchal society to thrive and grow.
Anyhow just wanted to get that off my chest. I hate fights! Moving on.
I’m 28 weeks today. A little wobbly, liking my food super-spicy, working out almost every day, painting furniture and shopping baby stuff to create a small nursery for our winter baby. This is probably one of the best years of my life and I’m reveling in the melodrama as much as I humanly can. Here is what month of July looked like! + a hundred other things of course.