My favorite thing about traveling is opening my eyes in the morning and realizing I’m not in my own bed. No this does not mean I force myself into promiscuity to ensure it. Though sometimes I wish I did. But now suddenly I don’t like this feeling. Last night as I drifted off to sleep I was convinced that I was sleeping in my bed in Bangkok and was completely startled when I heard a loud thunder clap and realized I was back in Bombay. I hate these time and space lapses. Especially when I’ve come back from a leisure holiday and thrown myself right into the throes of a work hell. I don’t think I’ve had a single non work thought in the last three days. Except for today when I can’t concentrate on work because I can only think of sex. Yes my friends. Sex. Carnal intercourse. In and out. Jumping. Shagging. Fucking. You get the gist. I’m also depressed as hell. I felt like crying when I heard the coffee machine was not working just now.
These feelings are fortunately not my usual state of affairs dear faint hearted, infact, this delightful combination of hornyness and sadness is because of the medication my derm has put me on for the recent spate of adolescent like breakouts I’ve been having. Apparently birth control pills plus something called Accutane. The Accutane causes depression, psychosis and halucinations (!!) whilst shrinking your sebum glands. And the birth control makes me horny as hell whilst killing excess androgens in my blood stream. The end result being one second I want to jump men and the next second I want to take the landline wire in my hands and break their jugular veins with it. Lovely. Simply sublime.
So this morning, I suddenly felt full empathy for the hijras at the juhu-andheri signal. The chickies have it the worst. I imagine they feel this way everyday of their lives. I fully had long conversation with them this morning as they crowded around my auto at the signal (I give them 300 rupees every month so that I don’t have to give them 10 bucks everyday. they loved the idea, like they get a salary or something and dutifully crowd around me on the 17th of every month). I just about started feeling happy to be talking to people I didn’t want to jump or kill (imagine that!) when they started commenting on my outfit and decided that my earrings didn’t match the dress. And that the shoes were simply atrocious. And as you can imagine they were pretty loud and raucous about it, the bitches, so much "Arrey ye kya pehen rahi hai. hai hai. Kaun thujse shaadi karega yada yada" Clap Clap. Hai Hai and all happened. I mean I love them but who made them an authority on fashion? So I snapped at them and told them to shove it. The Bitches. Men are such assholes… even when they're women