119 bpm.

A permanent heartbreak.

Coffee- no baby!

I don't forget how old I am- if you have a doubt- perhaps you should ask me- instead of telling me that I am not old enough in various combinations of words, and expressions

After a night of almost no sleep- to survive a longer day of mindlessness- I thought I needed coffee. My colleague and I, headed down to Barista- since the office coffee tasted deplorable for some reason today. I went in and asked for a black coffee in something they call ‘Grande’. The guy in orange tells me- like a passing warning-

“It’s black coffee…”
“Oh is it??? I thought it was milk and chocolate…” I wanted to say.

I smiled back and said- “I know…I still want it…”

He shrugged…SHRUGGED. Like parents do when kids make unfair demands. He didn’t take my order. Another very smiley waiter in orange at the counter did- actually two of them. I repeated my order and then one speaks up, smiling insanely-
“Ma’m, it’s BLACK coffee…and it is VERY STRONG!”

I felt like a 12 year old in a bar…asking for whiskey.

A deep breath later I told him- “I KNOW! And I STILL want it- can I have it on the GO?!!”

For the love of God I am not sitting there drinking my coffee and have them look at me, waiting for my adolescent hormones to jump up and do something insane because of the STRONG, BLACK coffee. Break the sofa maybe- or throw a stone at the glass window.

They finally gave it to me – smiling all the way. They found it hilarious. They even opened the sugar, stirred it in, out on the cover for a ‘take-away’ and handed me the paper cup with a tissue. They could have just tied it around my neck like a bib! They even charged me two bucks less for my coffee!!!

WHAT were they expecting?

I am old enough to know what coffee I want, please!!! Next time around I will just order a milk shake to save me the trouble.

Years.

Think of this- I told you, of the twisting ashes of years on our skins
That will be the trailing equation.
I have stopped saying my words out loud- the meaning changes when I do. And dear friend, you and I have nothing in common.
I have told you of my epic in an imagined conversation and while your thoughts held me to sleep – what could have been and what is pitched the battle tents on the creases of a smile.
The conversations dwindle, the gap just closes in and face to face- I have nothing more to say, except, did you know that you weren’t the only liar?
There the mirror image and the path of no return, a place of no exit and burning passions sour and stale – my thoughts are rarely erotic, perhaps I am freezing inside.
Perhaps.
I can’t love like a teenager - I wish I could. Older second by second – delving in the truth I dish out to you – I am older than the smiles you have managed.
I am older. Shattering and wiser as the cracks grow. This too will pass one day and I will regret.
I wish I had abandoned you sooner.

Sex and the City?

I think I have had ENOUGH of Sex and the City. I have the next two seasons saved in the hard drive and I know I will eventually watch them all...and well...laugh about it with my friends- but I cannot do anything more.
I am much tempted to write though. Re-arranging the cupboard in our tiny flat, now sitting on my red suitcase, I suppose my life is not very different from a Carrie Bradshaw's. It's just that this in NOT New York and random sex is just not the thing...yet...
Would it be easier if it was?
Probably. But then in some strange retarded 'Indian' way - we like our relationships. Stupid sadistic, masochistic, self-derogatory relationships- more often than not- are our security blankets.
I can comment about men and how it is supposed to be. Just the way the sitcom does...but I am on my last nerve on it. I want to scream at Carrie and take away some of her shoes...some.
We...the women of tomorrow. Have sex, break up, get together, cheat...but we just don't talk about it to everyone. I can't have a baby even if I want to- since I am not married...this is not New York yet.

Why not though?