I am in this vague Friday mode and I ended up reading these beautiful pieces on blogs that I really wanted to comment upon but cannot cos internet policy which is weird because what confidential stuff can you share while commenting on a blog about Potty training that you can’t via email? But reading beautiful stuff inspires me to write because I have realized that it is actually very easy to inspire me.
Let me elaborate. Like yesterday, while I was getting ready for work, way earlier than I am required to because a) I am required very late at work and till very late at work these days what with the end of Day Light savings and all (which I don’t get bloody hell the west thinks it’s cool to change the clocks and not their lazy habits and us Third world types have kindly adjust as always) and b) Because having a baby with a body clock matching her father’s whose body clock matches I don’t know whose but it definitely wakes them up with the first rays of the sun, means you cannot stick to your old “I wake up an hour before I need to leave” routine.
Yeah, so I was up and I was savoring my bowl of oats (Kellogg’s Tomato Salsa. Add some salt. I also added like 5 olives chopped up, and bits of wax pepper which is like this bottled pickled pepper like a cross between Jalapenos and gherkins and absolutely delicious if you’re into that kind of stuff. End result but Oh My God deliciousness!), and wanted to watch something on TV, which is usually Master Chef Australia from the last night/week, but I have been watching it Live for a while now, so I had to pick something else. So I picked “The Devil wears Prada” one of the best ever movies which I can watch a hundred times. And I watched like 30 mins of it and I was like ‘I just CANNOT wear that boring but highly comfortable Kurta to work man, Fashion, style, oh come on, I have to dress smarter’ so I switched to a flattering sweater and trousers. You see, inspired. Like I said, it is easy to inspire me.
Ditto for Work outs and all. This one’s tougher, because it needs more effort than walking to the cupboard and picking new clothes. So every time I see someone stick to their workout routine religiously, I am like I have to start tomorrow! Suddenly the running, the breathlessness and sweating seems extremely glamorous and movie-like sexy (yes I know, SUCH a fake picture). It is a different matter though that when you wake up at 6:45 AM the bed seems much sexier, but here again Zo comes to my rescue by being all awake and bright eyed in a jiffy. And frankly, the thought of ‘trying’ to sleep while she peels your eyelids apart screaming “Wake up! It’s morning!’ is less appealing than walking around in the cool breeze, music in my years, not a worry in the world.
Again, fake, unfair picture. I mean who walks around without a worry – about the little girl counting minutes to when you are getting back standing in the balcony, about the mails you checked on the Blackberry, about stuff in general because you can’t stop worrying in general. But anyway, I do enjoy that time, even though these days it means doing a pre-round with Zo, where she promises she’ll let me walk while she plays, except when she is sliding or running or looking for seeds or chasing pigeons, which is when she wants my company. But end of day, we have a routine. And we have the time to stick to the routine.
The only place in inspiration doesn’t strike, actually it does strike but it never works is when it comes to eating. So every time I hear someone say that they’re off sugar, or salt, or carbs I am like WHA! I can never be off anything, even cabbage which I hate but will definitely crave if I go off it. Also, when people have chocolates lying in their refrigerator I am totally shocked because come on! You cannot have chocolate LYING without being consumed, it’s blasphemous. I do try to moderate my eating, and restrict it to a bar a day, and tell myself that it is worth that ease with which I get into jeans a size smaller. And then as I watch Masterchef Australia and watch the judges destroy dessert after dessert, I get spiritual. You know the mode like what is all this moh-maaya. Who cares if you’re size 28 or 30? Happiness matters. And at that moment, happiness is in that second bar of chocolate in the fridge. And the third. And the fourth. You know what I mean.
Well, I am ok with the current scenario, you know I still get inspired at least, whether I do something about it or choose to scroll down my Twitter timeline 100 times an hour is secondary and something out of my control (I believe).
As long as sometimes, just sometimes, I take this half hour out, and ensure, that you are party to the jumble that’s my thoughts.