*drags self from bed after a night of repeated nightmares about the guy self is in love with and is desperately trying to forget*
*lugs the overweight body in the general direction of more misery popularly referred to as a PhD*
Hullo ladies who were redirected to this blog after a desperate attempt at googling “How to survive Valentine’s Day” or a more useful “Nude Pictures of hot Spanish Models”
I had suggested watching a super-hot-hero movie rich in profanities and innuendos and comical relief dipped in sarcasm as a reliable cure for V day blues but unfortunately, like all good things in life, its effects will wear off or shrink in size as the time is being clocked. Unless you can hold the fort till the torrentDVD of the movie is out, we need to resort to quick action, longer lasting cures.
When I was at the receiving end of the phone line as my object of affection (hereby referred to as OOA) was gushing about his upcoming engagement and his genuine desire for my presence during the auspicious ceremony, I was a tad bit preoccupied with holding the breaking pieces of my heart together. Hence, apart from an incoherent muttering of “sure, sure, sure, sure” I was not able to come up with any wise cracks. I genuinely regret not being able to express how much I was looking forward to that day. Attending ex’s and OOA’s weddings, ceremonies, bachelor parties and the like are much fun, second only to severe diarrhoea or food poisoning, my excitement offering serious competition to that of the guy who was bitten by the snake after being struck by lightning.
Amidst his repeated pleas for my presence, he forgot that insignificant detail, the lat. and long. of the event in question. I had reminded him more than once in the past how much he overestimates my mind reading powers. But his faith in my stalking abilities is rock solid, he must have assumed I will just guess the place and “bless the occasion with my presence.”
But he is only human. Faith is such a fragile entity being subjected to so many touchstones. There is a good probability that he will call me up with the geographical co-ordinates so I have, as a precaution, blocked him indefinitely on communication channels.
I so vividly remember that last time an OOA was getting engaged. Ah, memories. My excitement hit the roof, digestive juices made love with my intestinal lining with such ferocity, I was hospitalised. Ah. Good old IV drip. One should not be greedy. One such experience is enough to last a life time. I will pass on the adrenaline.
My faithful readers……reader….(hmm.) will be wondering how is it that I managed to be on this spot twice in my life time, when men are aplenty like fish in the sea out in the real world. When the world offers men in such varying shades of grey, when it is “raining men” (Hallelujah!), why do I bump into the same kinds? What can I say, I have a type. Such a turn on- men who pretend to be aloof and disinterested in me and are engaged to other girls, who are much more popular choices, you know.
So, where were we? Ladies, we were pondering over how to survive the sweet agony of losing the OOA. If you ask me, writing helps. All those “get a haircut, have a blast with your girls, drink like a fish, get under someone to get over someone, be with friends” etcimho applies to those on the other side of that line of 25. For us on this side, with married friends and lower intestinal tolerance and hairloss woes, options are sorta limited. Writing helps.
Especially if you imagine you are another Sarah Jessica Parker in a movie with voice overs describing your life’s agony in calm undertones and witty dialogues along with an exaggerated love for shoes.
Also, very few things are as efficient in delaying your Ph.Das crying over lost love, which is(PhD) already skating on thin ice. Especially since around the corner there waits* the fun event they have termed “Doctoral Committee” which is a fancy phrase we PhDs use for work appraisal.
Also, listen to this, or better, sing it aloud. ALOUD