I am, at my own.

Waking up with an alarm now a days is more of a dope than a need. The eyes and ears have hooked themselves not to the bright light of the day but the constant snoozes and screenshots of time. Alarm clocks have become the jack sparrows of a civilized world, nuisance but useful, hate them but can’t do without them.

 It was a regular routine barring the weekends. The weekends were much more painful. The routine at least helps the time stick by you or the other way around, mostly the latter but a day without the daily chores is like a round boat in a calm lake without any pedals. After a not so pleasant day spent in witnessing  “Return of Chandramukhi” on Zee Cinema it wasn’t a pleasant evening either. I kept on thinking and searching on google about the symptoms of a heart attack, so couldn’t even sleep or hog the uncle chips left from last night. Constipation is believed to be the origin of stale and stinky thoughts as well. A full day passed by and that Mcgrill was still stuck in my intestine humping it at its will.

The phone call that followed while I was bench pressing to relax the abdomen immediately resulted in the premature ejaculation of that bastard burger and dragged it down to the very depths of the sewerage. Happiness can do that to you, it is indeed a laxative. Last time I was this happy, I pulled out a kid ‘s pants stuck in a barbed wire, the bugger was in the same nasty position for the last half an hour. Though the little pants were torn apart, he was more than happy his posteriors were scratch-free. The moment I relieved him of his misery, he vanished like Richard Parker in Life of Pie, without even looking at his messiah but alas the good deed of the day was well executed.

Oh well the phone call, it was a self-recorded voice message scheduled to tell me about the time left for the project and my stay here.