On Uncle Caesar
Mother insisted Caesar uncle is just like his nephew who happens to be her husband. I quietly kept at my breakfast. She went on and on about how since May 2007 he's been telling us about a map of his property and our property. And how he has got it rectified or something to that effect. I have no interest in property - least of all land in the back of the beyond suburb of Vasai. So I let her trundle on as the slices of cheese and bread made their way into my stomach.
On my bag
My bag's pretty heavy - probably the books need some attention - visual and mental attention included. For The Bell Jar jostles with the Heart of Darkness next to which sits Selected Poems of Sylvia Plath. You can imagine the heady mix of suicide my bag may be in. I need to sort its contents and ensure it is as sane as I am, which is not quite anywhere close to normalcy.
On deadlines
Deadlines deadlines deadlines. If I were told to sell them all, I would most gladly have a sale in Carnegie Hall. Sigh! They just don't seem to stop being born. One dies, the other's born, then another cries for attention, and then yet another arrives for some not so tender loving care. If that's not enough, the deadline that died a week ago comes back to life with a change here and a change there to be done!
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