It's not the day, the gifts or the alcohol you drink. But birthdays are special because they come at a time when you really need an ego boost. On your birthday, the really really special people do the really really special things that make you feel the happiest person on earth, just because you were born that day, a few years back. People actually bother to stop at shop(S) to buy you a card that suites your character/istics, they bother to pass it round and sign it, they bother to meet with you and do lovely sweet things like buying you a secret drink and doing an awesome toast to your health. They leave your birthday card on your pillow, and ask you if you are drunk when you go to them and kiss them on the cheek in the middle of the night to thank them. And they don't open their eyes, they just smile, and you can see that smile even in the darkness, because its warm. And they kiss you goodnight in just that tiny whiny little bit warmer way after giving up a day's work just to spend some more hours with you, even if its doing nothing. They also make you a special home-made card after wracking their brains and the internet for a decent idea, and they bake you a small cake by mistake, and feel really horrible about it.
Thankyou all for it. For the special little efforts which make me a stronger person. Thank you for your support, love and advice. For your sincerity and bluntness. The wellness I feel is undescribable. It is the pleasure of knowing that yes, I am alone, breaking through life.. but I have all you people egging me on and believing in everything I do.
And even if its only 2.15am on my birthday, it has been the sweetest, most amazing birthdays of all.
Thanks.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
read and you'll see what sharp teeth and drool have to do with summer and a seaside promenade.
Cicra walked lazily along the promenade.. the sun was shining, the sea was gleaming in the said sun's rays, the clouds were gliding by carelessly in a warm summer's breeze, occasional bits and pieces flew across the empty road and caught fire on the hot tarmac, the silence was tangible, the clock on the church struck 11.00am on this still extremely silent monday morning...
Cicra stopped. She had sensed something was wrong, and looking around she saw... that she had forgotten to wear her (horrific) earrings.
"Darn it,"..
and the utternace of those feeble words dried the last few drops of spit that she had in her mouth, causing her to dryly drool for a freezing cold, fresh, crystal clear bottle of mineral water.
So she delicately walked over to the kiosk, only massacaring her left knee against one wooden bench, and leaving the right one intact. No sooner had she walked there that she realized it was closed..at 11.00am, in the middle of a hot summer. And only then did it strike her that, in fact, there was no one around.. not a soul could be seen in all directions, as far as the eyes could stretch. And this was a tourist area, full of shops and restuarants and pubs and banks.
Out came the intergalactic amulsifier of partially liquidized radio waves.. her super special mobile phone. But Le Mon didn't answer.
She would have considred visiting his house if it weren't for an ear-scorching ROOOOAAAR and the sound of footsteps (gigantic ones) getting closer and closer, sending tremors across the surface of the threatened promenade up till Cicra's throat.
The footsteps got closer and closer, and the roaring louder and louder, until finally and unfortunately a massive dinasourish head popped out from behind one of the tall apartement buildings. It was ugly, even for Cicra's standards, and she could already smell its atrouscious bad breadth from so far.
Far was a useless word in this case, because the distance was covered in a slipping-of-a-sweat-droplet-off-a-forehead.
And did Cicra move an inch? ..
She had instead forgotten her nationality, which was a heroic (<-- pun) feat in so little time. Terror, it was later discovered, was the fastest traveller existing.. contrary to the popular belief that put light at the top of the list. I.t. (Ignatius Tremendes) was standing in his full height (which was approximately very high) above Cicra. Towering perpendicularly... muscles tensed, claws clutched, teeth numerous and sharp and a glassy look.
Needless to say, Cicra was still frozen to the spot. It was only when a drop of dinasaur drool which would have filled the Aswan High Dam in a time of complete draught, slid off his 23rd-from-right, upper canine and gathered gravitational speed towards our heroine that the little that was left of her brain (it wasn't the dinasaur's doing), reacted energatically to the approaching humidity and sped off, dragging the body behind.
TO BE CONTINUED, soon hopefully
Cicra stopped. She had sensed something was wrong, and looking around she saw... that she had forgotten to wear her (horrific) earrings.
"Darn it,"..
and the utternace of those feeble words dried the last few drops of spit that she had in her mouth, causing her to dryly drool for a freezing cold, fresh, crystal clear bottle of mineral water.
So she delicately walked over to the kiosk, only massacaring her left knee against one wooden bench, and leaving the right one intact. No sooner had she walked there that she realized it was closed..at 11.00am, in the middle of a hot summer. And only then did it strike her that, in fact, there was no one around.. not a soul could be seen in all directions, as far as the eyes could stretch. And this was a tourist area, full of shops and restuarants and pubs and banks.
Out came the intergalactic amulsifier of partially liquidized radio waves.. her super special mobile phone. But Le Mon didn't answer.
She would have considred visiting his house if it weren't for an ear-scorching ROOOOAAAR and the sound of footsteps (gigantic ones) getting closer and closer, sending tremors across the surface of the threatened promenade up till Cicra's throat.
The footsteps got closer and closer, and the roaring louder and louder, until finally and unfortunately a massive dinasourish head popped out from behind one of the tall apartement buildings. It was ugly, even for Cicra's standards, and she could already smell its atrouscious bad breadth from so far.
Far was a useless word in this case, because the distance was covered in a slipping-of-a-sweat-droplet-off-a-forehead.
And did Cicra move an inch? ..
She had instead forgotten her nationality, which was a heroic (<-- pun) feat in so little time. Terror, it was later discovered, was the fastest traveller existing.. contrary to the popular belief that put light at the top of the list. I.t. (Ignatius Tremendes) was standing in his full height (which was approximately very high) above Cicra. Towering perpendicularly... muscles tensed, claws clutched, teeth numerous and sharp and a glassy look.
Needless to say, Cicra was still frozen to the spot. It was only when a drop of dinasaur drool which would have filled the Aswan High Dam in a time of complete draught, slid off his 23rd-from-right, upper canine and gathered gravitational speed towards our heroine that the little that was left of her brain (it wasn't the dinasaur's doing), reacted energatically to the approaching humidity and sped off, dragging the body behind.
TO BE CONTINUED, soon hopefully
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