Myself

Nothing

Too many things I want to write about, too little time. (“Less”, a voice says. “Little”, another voice corrects. Sorry, in-joke.)

I spent my first weekend in a long time in a glorious blaze of Do Nothing. Contrary to what people might claim, it is actually rather tough to Do Nothing. Not in the philosophical sense of the term, of course one has to be doing something at any given point of time. This was more about spending two days indulging in something that makes you answer the oft-asked Secret Brotherhood question (“how was your weekend?”) with a straight face, instead of collapsing in tears at the reminder that you have squandered a precious 42 hours of your life (counting Friday evening, and with a 18 hour Sleep discount).

But I had an excuse. A sore throat and the threat of an impending fever. I woke up at my usual time on Saturday, eager to bus-hop to Comikaze, the newest pop culture convention to hit Los Angeles, and my body refused to acknowledge any form of mental cajoling on my part. I went back to sleep, waking every few hours or so to make myself some tea. I drank a lot of tea that day.

At some point, I woke up and it was dark outside. Turned out it was 8 PM, and when I tried saying that out loud, I found out that I no longer sounded like Marlon Brando in The Godfather, my voice had taken on a Bachchan-esque timbre. Practiced saying “I am your father”, in both English and Hindi, while taking a shower, and the echo even added a certain gravitas to the proceedings.

I opened the apartment door, wanting to go grab some dinner ere slumber’s chains bound and totally BDSMed me, when I saw some random Thai restaurant flyer on the doorknob. Now normally, I would just go Krakatoa on flyers, ripping them while growling and frothing at the mouth and then stuffing them into the trash – yes, irrationality is another of my virtues, please bear with me. But that day, that flyer felt like The Voice of Alan Moore, booming at me in a Northhampton accent – “Thai food, you know you want it.” and then it proceeded to tell me a joke involving the Elder Gods and Daler Mehndi. Which could have just been the fever, but the accent’s still so vivid that I might try telling that joke myself some time.

I remember having really bad Thai food, and trying to watch Home Alone 3 on Netflix, and then deciding that Doing Nothing is better than self-inflicted torture. It’s all a blur after that.

Actually no, I just fell asleep. Again.

Then there was Sunday. Where I woke, felt much better, went to Comikaze (the flesh was still unwilling, but the mind, it led the way). Though I wish I did not. Other than spending $25 to buy 5 not-really-necessary-but-still-awesome comics (Age of Bronze, Luther Arkwright, Noble Causes), I did not really enjoy myself that much.

And then I came home and made 17 billion points on Monsters Ate My Condo.

I will probably delete this post out of shame a few weeks from now.

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7 thoughts on “Nothing

  1. Michelle says:

    Weekends like this are the stuffing that makes life a little less artificial, a little more human. I personally find these weekends nice.

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