Oh, I just dropped tea into my stream of consciousness
Why were we born on earth to do mundane tasks? Why do these tasks need to be finished? Had it not been for these daily tasks, I would have been in heaven, sipping sugar-free nectar from a straw made out of paper that was recycled five times starting from a trashed corporate appraisal sheet with a terrible rating on it. I saw the rating. I puked.
I thought of the tiring day I had.
Taking my hot cup of tea out into the open balcony, I decided to introspect a little. The next minute, I decided introspection was not for me. I should try meditation, but again, meditation is for the godly. I’m ungodly and unholy.
Therefore, sticking to my tiny balcony with a warm cup and letting my thoughts flow was a better way to dig within.
I tried to close my eyes and look deep, but I forgot that I had to open my eyes to take sips. How do people ruminate? Do they never drink anything while being reflective about themselves?
Finally, and extremely finally, I just decided to let my thoughts pass by. Like a stream of consciousness, as they love to call it.
Below is a brief sketch of a few minutes of my stream of consciousness.
‘This tea is so oriental. I should also try oriental coffee some day. Today maybe? Today has been so busy! The highlight of the day was the Jockey mannequin we saw at the store wearing a pair of briefs with the world map printed on it. It looked more like a world map on a newspaper than a brief. Can people wear newspaper? What if it rained? What if there was a fire?
Somehow newspapers are too pulpy for me. I prefer my news online. It has been around 30 minutes that I’ve not lived online and checked my notifications. I can’t check them now. The kid considers it his fundamental right to ask for the phone every time he sees it in my hand. Above all, he is defying Darwin’s Evolution Theory and just helping ridiculous cross-bred creatures evolve into something weirder in a Pokemon game. That is his life.
Oh, how fast he is growing! I am scared that soon he will grow so big that he won’t hug me in public, and I will become a cantankerous haggard old woman. Will I really look old? I do look young for my age. The kid has been asking me for my age for the last few days, and finally, we’ve decided on 31. He revolted that few days back it was 32. A shush and a strict instruction later, he agreed to stick to 31. Phew! That makes me think that I should continue to look younger. I should eat more salads.
Salads! I just had a moment of renaissance when someone close to me said that my writing was like a “salad.” It was not a “main” dish that people would like to read but just a side “salad” with no substance in it. The reason is I don’t write anything haemorrhage-inducing or optic-nerve bursting, or about Trump or global warming, or anything controversial about a murder perhaps, or a rape, or a fake Swami, or 10075.75 ways to increase productivity or other motivational gunk. While readers grab and lap up content that is immediately cut-throat, evoking intense emotions that can make someone laugh or cry, nobody wants a “salad,” and what I write is just salad.
The intention of this comment was purely to have me write something more sensational and grab more eyeballs and probably go viral. Or fungal. Maybe bacterial.
I loved the criticism that day, especially because it was so figurative, and also awarded myself a star for just smiling and listening to it. I am laughing about it now.
Shall I go for soul-searching? It has been often that I wanted to go for soul-searching, but each time I ended up on a beach with a lovely view and a Bud Light before me. Turns out regular Budweiser doesn’t really make me wiser. Therefore, I stick to Light. It makes me feel light. Eventually, I levitate. There have been instances when I’ve walked on water, sea water, after a Bud Light, and onlookers have mistaken me for a saint. I forgave them.
When I get back from the beach, to my utter dismay I remember that I had gone for soul-searching, but all that I came back with were sea-shells.
I should get a haircut. Do I need to pee right now? I’m sure as soon as I close the washroom door, my little genius will come running and knock. That will be the most cosmic moment for him when he would have discovered that the Halley’s comet is visible from the Earth every 74 years. Oh how I love this boy!
No, I can hold my bladder for a little longer until my tea is over.
Ouch! My tea! My hand!’
While I just laughed out at the last thought, I dropped my hot tea into my stream of consciousness and hurt my hand. My thread of thought was broken, and I had already stained my shirt. Never mind the hand, the shirt was more important.
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