There was a time in my life when weekends brought with them a kind of restlessness. What will I do? How can I possibly be at home on Saturday night? What will the weekend nazis say about me if I hung out with myself? Will it be kind of pathetic? Fridays were spent in a flurry of phone calls, plans, outfits, and movie tickets.
But that has all changed. Weekend social anxiety has given way to sweat pants, Youtube and bits of cake in my hair. I now routinely choose sitting at home letting my belly hang out over social engagements that require me to suck it in, literally and figuratively. Weekend nazis be damned.
What do your weekends look like? Also, do you think it’s sad? Cuz, I kinda like it.
I don’t know if this happens to you, but sometimes I get obsessed with a song and then I listen to it over and over and over, on a loop.
The past few days it has been a song by Pakistani singer, Rahat Fateh Ali Khan (you can find it here). It’s a song about eternal love and longing and waiting. There’s some poetic complaining about heart break. It’s beautiful, even if you don’t know what the lyrics mean.
So of course, I had to draw something pointless about it, with what are probably wildly incorrect Hindi spellings of Punjabi words. I am not sad right now, but I figured someone somewhere is sure to be.
Whoever came up with that tagline, needs to get a uterus.
You’re a creep, both inside and out.
May black, saggy boobs haunt you forever.
I confess that sometimes I am awake all night in my baggiest, most unshapely, hole-y mumu. I skulk around the house being vague, thinking weird thoughts, or talk to myself while conjuring fictional scenarios where I really got to stick it to some nasty bitch or the other. Or, I just sit at my table and stare at the traffic zooming by, trying to imagine the people inside the cars, where they are going or where they might be coming from.
But don’t be afraid. I am not a psychotic creepozoid (unlike some people I know). I am just a bit spacey, that’s all.