may at home

Writing from my blue flowered bed back home, good morning everyone. The air smells of plywood and detergent. My phone needs to be repaired, and the journal is upstairs in my bag, too far out of my reach. So hello blog, little update time for you. I had tea without milk for breakfast, and some biscuits. D says the milk is to distract you from the tea, so one must add it only when the liquor isn't flavored enough. This morning I realized, we let D repeat a lot of his stories and never interrupt when he is speaking. Whether we do that out of fear or consideration, I am yet to know. It is okay, I don't really mind listening to Kurseong escapades time and again. I think coming home will do me good. I've lost some weight, and the checkup suggests something to do with blood pressure but I think it's a stretch for the doctor to be worried about more. I am not too fazed about my heart failing out of genetics or plain grief. I did cry in M's arms a night ago, for the first time. I think I could take all her bitter jabs if she'd run fingers through my hair again. My teacup is chipped from an old mishap and the bookshelf needs to be rearranged. They found my idea of floor time very amusing. I think if I can get a month of floor time and sweet liquor tea, I will not need a shelf load of medication to get me through delhi. The doctor suggested short term sedatives for sleep, but how do I tell him that it's just your shoulder that I miss. Now isn't the time, I must go water the new plumerias in the terrace. Plumerias, such a nice name. Someone left a huge gym ball in the corridor. I wonder who gets tired of gym balls. Balls. Funny.