Just one of those days.............

Just one of those days I guess. Things upset me very easily me thinks and I wish that it ain't so sometimes. But they say you've got to feel to be human and yet, being human sucks sometimes.

Not really sure what I'm doing, although there is a hell of a lot that needs to be done. One moment you can be so up high and the next, your are crawling on the ground, clutching at dear life. Words have a way of becoming splinters of glass sometimes.

Ever felt the weight of the world on your shoulders? Its like the sadness of the world is plotting on drowning me sometimes. The sadness of the dog, tied up next door, a whole day without food, the sadness of my parents aging, the sicknesses, the pain, the sadness of the boy at the supermarket counter who stacks bags and smiles innocently, the sadness of the pale girl with a shaved head on the bus smiling at me in between her pills that her mother forces down her throat , the sadness of the puppy who I HAD to watch dying because of the stupid, money-minded Vet who refused to treat him, the sadness of the girl at the KFC counter, watching a family, wondering what life is like for them, wondering about a life that she never had and never will have, sadness of past hurts, moments when I could have been more attentive but I wasn't, times that I could have been nicer to people but I wasn't all coming back in one big, black, cold mollycoddle and engulfing me, quite uninvited. Why is there so much sadness in the world? And more importantly, why does it all come back to haunt ME of all people?

I am not Mother Theresa, I'm not noble enough to dedicate my life for the betterment of the human or the animal kind, I'm way too selfish for that. I am not Virgin Mary either, I make horrible mistakes and regret them later on. But I do feel. I do feel the sadness, the suffering and I do wish that I don't feel them sometimes. Because nobody seems to understand. Nobody understands the intensity of these emotions and the helpless feeling that comes along with it. Nobody really cares enough to understand.

I'm being weird, according to most social conventions and I'd probably be gaslighted as being ''crazy'' or "dramatic" too. And NO, I'm not PMS'ing either. I feel lost. And vulnerable too sometimes. And I don't like to admit it either most of the time. Am I being arrogant, too proud and snobby in not admitting the vulnerability, the helplessness, the loss? Probably, yes. Because maybe I know no other way.

December :)

Its that time of the year again. The season of taking one hour to travel down a road which normally takes 15mins to travel, the season of glittering lights and shimmering tinsel, shit-pissed drivers grinding their teeth and screaming holy psalms at whoever dared cross their path, the season of merry jingles and sprightly tunes, elves, pixies and reindeer springing at you from supermarket isles scaring the chilly powder and pasta shells out of you and all over the just-mopped tiles while the lady with the mopping basket glares at you while you sheepishly melt under her blistering stare................ And oh yeah, seems like pot-bellied men with cotton wool hanging ridiculously off their chins seem to be in vogue too this season. Once you deck them in red and white that is.

All characteristic sarcasm aside, the Lady Grouch is enjoying all the festivities. Its a whole all-you-can-eat buffet for the senses out there. The sights, the sounds, the smells........ah the joy!  

Yes, the Lady has been silent what with her being employed now and all (yes, I write for a living now, yipee!) but still, making a living out of writing has its pros AND cons, the best example being the silence that this complaint blog has suffered lately and all. But it sure feels good to be able to do what one is passionate about and I don't think that's a chance that everybody gets.

Back to the Grouch-a-topic, I am left wondering whether Christmas suddenly came and pounced on the unsuspecting public and started ripping their cloths off their backs that they suddenly feel the irrepressible urge to clamber all over each other in desperate cloth shopping sprees, knocking off teeth, breaking noses while snot flies in slow motion, mingled with sweat and blood, necks gone all awry, while starring at upside-down price tags for too long, etc.

I mean, everybody knew that Christmas is due on the 25th of December, right? Its not like Santa popped out of the calender and screamed Merry Xmas in the middle of June right? I mean, what the Rudolf is all the mad rush about? Well, the hustle and bustle and the racket is all very nice, but its not so peachy when one is late and needs to get some place like flying-comet fast.

All in all, its quite endearing to see a shopping cart full of shiny tinsel and other little trinkets, a full blown chicken (cz Turkey is so darn expensive here), plastic mistletoe and holly sprigs, a bottle or two of Elephant ginger beer and a good old bottle of old Arrack adorning the shopping list. Good ol Christmas, Sri Lankan style.

Went ahead and bought a few strands of tinsel myself. Although we do not celebrate Christmas as Buddhists, I remember looking forward to decorating a "Christmas tree" when Brother Dearest and I were mere munchkins. Mother Dearest would fetch a potted plant from the garden, let us unpack the big cardboard box of Christmas decorations and watch us go loca with the tinsel strands, the little golden bells, the silvery globes, the dainty little angels, etc. I still remember the beautiful smell that came out of that box, mingled with the delicious baking smells from the kitchen, because my mother always believed that every happy occasion, how relevant or irrelevant it may be for us, should be celebrated and experienced at its fullest. And I share the sentiment. So this year around, few strands of tinsel, just to honor that memory and also because tinsel, those shiny sparkly, glitzy things remind me of all the good things in life. Not to mention the Lady G's attempt to put some minced pies and probably a Christmas pudding on the menu. Mmmmmmm................

Sri Lankan Christmas where the Santa gratefully walks in through the front door ( thanking the God Almighty that there are no chimneys in Sri Lanka, except the tiny ventilating pipes from the wood stoves in certain kitchens through which nobody half sane would expect an old pot-bellied man to wriggle through) and shop assistants plastering cotton wool snow all over their shop windows while fanning themselves in the December heat. There indeed, is no place like home :)