Musings on Monday Mornings

Its one of those days; a slow sun rising, halted in its climb. A steady breeze promising more and expectation not met. It did rain a trickle at night though. As of morning, nothing. The Princess in me is slowly dying. Its a torturous murder. Slow poisoning by reality. As a rule I have refused to sleep in a crumbled bed. It has surprised many bed fellows. First Zareen and as of the last eight years, Shahid. Waking from the bed, the sheets must be ordered before returning. Hair must be made. Make-up removed. One must maintain a semblance of Princely-ness on retiring for the night. But as of late my bones are so wary, my body so racked that I fall into bed in the most graceless, unprincess-like manner. Before, where the little wrinkle disturbed though the night, now one could leave a hedgehog in bed with me and the nettles wouldn't pinch. This is a tragedy since there little in life that entertains and warms more than illusions. And when the illusion breaks, reality is a hard cushion...

We came back from Lahore after the winter break close to a month ago. And since coming back have been trying desperately to dodge one health bug after another. First week in Daniyal came down with a stomach bug... one we brought with us from Lahore. That was the first weekend gone. Thereafter Shahid caught Iblees's own cough, and so the second weekend was sacrificed. With Shahid coughing and sneezing his guts out, I was the next obvious port of call, so the third weekend was spent with me topping 102C on the temperature scale and finally, come full circle Daniyal, has caught the bug. Have spent a miserable month barely making it outside the house once a week. Top it with a weak pocket with little buying power and even the idea of retail therapy no longer cheers. Has my pocket shrunk or has the world become more expensive. Its sad to note that incentive to shop is inversely proportional to money in the pocket. I have never wanted to shop in the last six years, when i myself was earn...