manic sunday

I grew up listening to The Bangles crooning about Manic Mondays. I have a song of my own playing in my mind though and it´s called, "Manic Sunday".
I feel Sunday is the most chaotic day in my week. That´s the day when I am horribly behind schedule. Breakfast and lunch is always in quick succession. Bath seems like an unlikely possibility as uninvited friends show up wanting to brunch with you. As you dig into the refrigerator wishing for a miracle called leftovers, frozen food or anything distinctly edible, people walk around dripping beer ( they call it condensation off the can) on the carpet you managed to brush the day before. As you smile patiently and wait for the hurricane to pass, the phone rings and it´s your mother wanting to catch up with you. It´s not her fault really. It is a Sunday after all. Most normal people spend it in bed/hammock. I am running around ensuring that people have enough to eat at the table and that there is ice in the freezer.
I love entertaining, mind you. However, I appreciate notice. A week preferably. It gives me time to be a diva then. Answer the door looking like I got back after a rejuvenating massage at the Four Seasons. As I offer my cheek for the customary peck, I am confident that it´s the reassuring smell of Gucci and not perspiration greeting the kisser.
A woman has to be presentable at all times is what I was told by an aunt. She was also the one insisting that I go to Finishing School. She would give polite disapproving looks every time I tucked my feet under me on a particularly slow afternoon. Or when I dug into my spaghetti with relish after a particularly depressing day at work. She never lived with us but somehow was always hovering around making observations.
Not that it ever worked on me. Even today, if caught unawares, you will find me in my faithful pyjamas and t- shirt that have seen several birthdays without giving up on me .
I love the life I lead on the rest of the days. Just don´t expect the best out of me on Sundays. It´s a losing battle that day.

routine

It´s just one of those days when you want to do nothing. Even moving around your bed seems like such an effort then. You squint at the clock and see that it´s close to noon. Sighing like you are about 200 years old, you groan and moan. The sun is shining brightly, so you head to shower. As the water hits your body you feel sleepy again. It´s like a massage really. You just don´t feel like raising your hands or even finding that soap. A few minutes of water therapy later, you walk out and sit on the bed gulping a glass of soya milk. There are dishes in the sink, the floor needs sweeping, the garbage needs to be taken out, the letters need to be posted. ´"Later, later, later" seem to be the only words that register.
The phone rings suddenly and you get up with a start. Your mind goes blank for a minute and you realize it was all a dream. Reality is far worse. You need to get out of bed, spend not more than 3 minutes in the shower, complete those chores, catch the 9 am local to reach that meeting across the city in time.
Sometimes dreams are good. They let you relax. Life unfortunately, is a high-speed, bumpy ride with no brakes. The only time you stop is when you have had enough. And that´s when your dreams start to take over your life.
So the next time, you want to have that leisurely shower in real time...just do it! The next time you want to binge on chocolates, indulge. Cause when you don´t, you know you will dream about it and wake up cheated.

sans jacket

I hate feeling cold. Your mind turns to slush and the only real activity that happens then is chattering. Your teeth completely give up on you and start a life of their own - grumble, bitch and laugh in that annoying way that makes you look ridiculous in front of strangers. So, I try to be wise and carry suitable clothes when I step out in winter. Mind you, the winter we are talking about in this case is a freezing -5 degrees. Enough to turn you into your favorite ice lolly.
Of course, sometimes it is warmer and it is then that one needs to make choices. A pullover, a jacket, a woolen cap, mittens...all of them, one, two, three of them, none of them...it´s really puzzling for a woman sometimes. After all, we are looking at a wardrobe malfunction here if the colors don´match. Most men would say, Oh just throw it all on and step out". So you listen or you simply wear what you please ( and I can bet that´s almost always the wrong choice) and step out smiling and pretend that it isn´t cold when all you really want to do is enter a sauna and gulp down some brandy to get your blood circulating again.
I haven´t quite figured out the colour coding for clothing yet. For example, I really don´t understand whether the fawn jacket I own goes with the emerald silk shirt my mom gifted me. Most of the clothing I own is simple, non descript and enough to make the divas shudder with disgust. Then again, if my fingers still feel like they are alive at the end of the day with all that I own, I must be doing something right.