The revenge of the spiders

It's karma, I tell you. I didn't let that spider in on that rainy day. S/he sent his/her brethren to assault me. There I was in my window alcove when I turn around and this huuuge spider is dangling from the ceiling, hanging in the way of freedom. There was no way to go but through the window. I went into hysterics: crying and screaming for help, for here was this spider dangling inches from me, nearly on me if I moved.

I wasn't ready to jump out of the window, so I emptied my pencil box (all the while still crying hysterically), and opened it on its hinges. Quickly I snapped it shut around the dangling spider. Still crying, I ran to the lift lobby and to the other end of the corridor, where I dropped the box which fell open. Crying still, I ran back to the safety of my house.

Shattered nerves. Had to call Lily and cry. And now I feel silly. The rational has regained control. Why am I so frightened of spiders?

Also, a moot point; if I'm getting murdered, no one will know or care. Because for sure, if I was getting murdered I would scream a lot lot less than I did now. Hmph. Some unfeeling neighbours I have. A real neighbour would have come running to find the damsel in distress.

Greed

I dream of white truffles shaved onto a bed of steaming buttered pasta. I had that at Otto in Singapore. I can't stop thinking about it.

O, my poor mouth. We must not splurge now. You are the mouth of a poor student

Spiders and rain

I sit here by the window and I'm watching the rain come down in sheets. And there's a spider outside my window. He/She is sheltering in a little nook, which can't be much shelter. I'm a monster though. I look at his/her eight legs and they are very long and black and frightening to an arachnophobic like me. But what harm will he/she do me? Why don't I have the courage to open the window and let him/her in?
I don't and I'm almost helpless between my irrational and strong fear and my outrage that I would let anything stay out on a night like this.

What Ipshita wants

Hmm...

What do I want? I want security, I want peace, I want silence. And the only reason I want these things is propbably because this last year I had none of it.

As more and more security comes my way, stress I didn't even know I was carrying roll off my shoulders. And now if I could have one place I could call home, I don't deserve to ask for more.

Only, as it should be, there is always one thing that keeps everything from being perfect. I will never ever have my Brutus around again. And I wonder how much of this would I have traded for another year of his continued life and health. Love and attachment are terrible things. I still can't believe he's gone.

I've just come from Paradise. It was so unbelievably beautiful. I want to take everyone I've ever liked with me on a long trip and jump up and down as their jaws sag with admiration.

I fell

I flew

I climbed

I drifted

I sped

I rafted

I gazed

I slept

I ate

I stared

I screamed

I laughed

I didn't want to ever leave

Moo cows and baa lambs and good people and the world out of some fairy tales. backdrops of moutains, canyons, ravines, ice blue rivers and glaciers, birds of paradise, skies of aquamarine, horizons of undefined distances

The skies of Agra are full of birds. Parakeets, crows, mynahs, kites and the odd hornbill or two. If you have to imagine a world where the spirits take animal form side by side with our existence that would be how I'd see it.

I've enjoyed my little break thus far. I am gritted up to plough through my 'working' holiday in NZ. And after that, it will be good to get back to studying. An idle mind is a very boring workshop

Everytime I think I am getting better, I'm not. Home was the worst place to come to. I keep looking over my shoulder expecting the old routines. Sit for tea, my dog's not there begging for biscuits, go to sleep, no snuffling noises at night. No walks, no pawing for food at meals. No shuffling around the house quietly to be near us.

The house is full of memories and ghosts. My dad speaks of moving. I understand. I would like to shut up the apartment as a mausoleum to our grief. If I were rich and famous, it would be a touching tribute if I built a monument to Brutus. Being ordinary, it is 'just' my dog who has died. Everyone understands, but only a few really do. I am bereaved. If it was a brother I'd be given time off, given space to heal. People would expect me to be shattered. I am shattered on the inside and this grief is globulous and growing inside me, not a romantic metaphor but true.

Brutus, my Brutus, my dearest dearest Brutus