Just another Divya day

Life is a bitch. Or maybe not.

It's a Saturday, 6 something pm. I have friends, calling me up, making plans. I don't want to go. I spent the last two hours, feeling like I can sell my soul to the devil to be able to sing like I used to, write like I used to, just smile like I used to.
I'm home alone. Nobody to give me morality lectures 24/7. Nobody to remind me(just casually) that I've been online too long and I have a BIG test on Monday. Stupid Monday. Nobody making half-burnt baingan bartha and expecting me to count my blessings(Atleast you have food to eat!). Nobody trying to complain that I am the one who's to blame for the Tsunami. Nobody telling me that this is a 'very crucial year'. Nobody fighting with me for the remote. It's overhyped, I tell you. Being home alone sucks!

Cricket fever. More like cricket diarrhoea. Everybody becomes an armchair cricketer. In my family, sanity takes a backseat. Everybody has an opinion about how Gautam Gambhir should've played a specific shot. I just question the fact that he's even there. My sister considers herself to be a good luck charm and sits in a specific position at a specific end at the edge of the sofa. My mother's no less. She has a blue cup. The cup of elixir. She actually believes having coffee from that cup, gives Rahul Dravid and the team a nudge in the right direction. I've become a family room outcast. Just 'cos I said V.V.S. would be out the next over and unfortunately, for the country, him and me, he did. Was in College yesterday. Sending frantic messages to Raha. "What's the score? How many wickets? How many overs? Who's bowling? Who's getting a royal reality-bites session? Message back immediately. My life depends on it!". It was a sad draw, anyway. Ofcourse, it was fixed. We can't let the Pakis lose their first match on Indian soil. We have to return the favour. Ganguly should have been braver and elected to bat. Dravid should've never gotten married to that ugly doctor b**ch. It was Friday, yesterday. Those Pakis must've prayed their a$$es off. I've run out of excuses. That's cricket for you. Just cant help falling in love with it.

I like being upset about things that don't matter. It gives me a crazy sense of importance. When things go right, as they sometimes will, I just find a way to screw it over. I'm optimistic. Okay, thats a half truth. I am great at giving instant pick-me-up speeches to myself. I've felt this PMS depression a million times before. Okay every month almost. And the darkest hour is just 60 minutes of agony. I can handle that. But I won't. Just for fun.

"Love means never having to say you're sorry". Go ahead. Have your two-second laugh and come back to reality.
I do the most questionable things sometimes. It makes me feel pathetic. I was horrible and rude. Totally out of character(or maybe very expected the way some people see it). I said things I didn't mean. Gave vent to all my anger(at what or whom, don't even ask). I selfishly side-stepped all the happy things we could talk about and kept targetting my I-wanna-kill-you lines at him. Hurt him. Knew I was doing it but I just didn't stop. Not the first time. It's happened before. I've promised that it wouldn't happen again. It has. Another broken promise. Another fight. Another tear. Another apology. Another promise. The love grows and my momentary lapses of self-restraint continue. I am partially disgusted with myself. But then, self-love can never lose. In the end, it doesn't even matter.

I'm just so glad some things are a given.
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