some days are better than others when you don’t enjoy work
Life is wonderful to you. Every morning, you reluctantly let go of your bed knowing it will be a while before you get to feel the warmth of its cuddles, its night-long embrace. You force yourself to kick away the pillows, the comforter, the softness. When you set your feet on the floor, the chillness of the morning permeates into your skin and sprints to your head in a flash giving your brain an ephemeral freeze. None of this makes you jump back into the bed, back to the warmth. Instead, it makes you want to find a way to awaken your hopelessly slothful eyes that are still drooping on the cushion-y bags below. This, because you cannot wait to live your day. You know you have to take a long break for most of the day to go to work, in between; but that’s fun in a different way and you don’t mind. You’re excited about all that surrounds it… You get off the bus in the evening, you walk home absorbing the sunlight, observing pedestrians, feeling chirpy. You’re in a city far away from home, yet you’re on your way home. You feel grown up, independent, worthy and wonderful. The air is filled with the delight breathed out by all the men on their way home after work. There’s the smell of flowers they are taking for their wives. The rugged smell of jerseys of the younger men running to the football grounds, tie and shirt packed in the backpacks. There’s love from the women eager to pick up their toddlers from school. You can smell it all, a pleasant amalgam reeking of the evening’s glee. You smile at the lady selling flowers. You’re nice to the shop-keeper that always snaps at you and surprisingly he in return mouths something nice. You buy two bars of chocolate, one for you, the other for the watchman’s little kid. You’re back home knowing there’s so much you want to do. You fall into the insides of your beanbag, your three-dimensional amoeba and you get busy. Soon you’re consumed in love for what you’re doing. Lost… When the invites of your bed begin to become irresistible, you give in. You smile as you indulge in the lushness of your comforter, thinking of your day. You doze off before the thought evaporates. Your smile stays.
One day, one that seems like the other wonderful days, work (the break in between) takes a while longer. It gets longer and slower the day after. And worse the day after that. Soon that’s all you have. The surrounding part of the day becomes non-existent. You wake up when you do not want your clock to screech another time. The clouds in the skies look sullen. Life suddenly seems dreary. You don’t get to see the light of the evenings, the purple skies following the sunset, the smell of the delight. You leave into the blackness of the night. You fail to notice the diamonds in the sky or the tiny topaz glitters highlighting the city, every road, every inch. The lights don’t mesmerize you, they annoy you. You fall on your bed, dozing off before the fall even ends. You wake up to screeches again.
This goes on. And on.
It’s like you’re lying in an open garden, rolling around, taking in peace and love from all around. And a huge boulder rolls over and settles itself on you. You push yourself up with all your might, you heave. It goes in vain. You heave again. You heave again. The boulder only gets heavier. You tell yourself you can get out of this, you heave again. You scream hoping it’d give you strength, you heave. Then, you realize the boulder’s giggling cause of the tickles your heaves gave it. You cry, till your eyes are red. You then giggle at yourself and the quandary. You giggle at the others stuck just like you are, all around. They giggle too.
One day, you’re at work. When the evening hasn’t even set in, you realize you can leave. It sounds plain wonderful but just weird. You walk out into the pleasantly sober evening unsure if you’ll love it, apprehensive about it all. You see blue, pink and orange behind the clouds. You run on the roads as the wind hits you. You take in a whiff of the delight abundant in the evening air. The honks on the main road sing a tune to you. You look back. You feel like a tiny girl in a cartoon who was doing her happy walk when a pot-hole on the road sucks her in. She cries there for long. One day it just spits her out back into her world. Thinking this, you run home to live your life.
You let your comforter engulf you into its haven. Before you apparate to another world of your dreamy existence, you resolve to hold on to your life tight and let nothing take it away. Thinking that, you hold your pillow so tight, it could choke.