The bad salad

Typing is an effort

The reason is weakness, ill tell you why, had a shitty Russian salad prepared by, I suspect, a Bhaiyya who really didn't flinch when he poured watery Mayo into the salad. I believe that thing screwed my innards.

I got up in the morning, and promptly went back to sleep. My vision was hazy and the light hurt my eyes. It was decently dark in the room and invitingly cool. My body refused to respond to the usual tirade of my inner voice. I have a sneaky suspicion that the inner voice is that of woman, it keeps nagging me without a respite, it rears itself at the most inopportune times - like when I am just about to make my move on the cute chick, or; when i am going to bite into that extra piece of chocolate.

So I get up again at around noon time. My limbs feel like, well, limbs again and my head ceases to feel like a boom box. I trudge to the bathroom.

I sleep again, the Russian is out by now. I am fidgety, I am right there in between helplessly unwell and hale and hearty. My mind wants to go out into the sun and catch the sights and sounds but any attempt is thwarted by heavy bass in the brain.

By evening most of appetite is back and am looking for another day of the usual minus the Russian.