Meera's Diary: Feb 14, 2013
Meera Rao picked up her pen and started writing in her leather bound diary. Words sprang from her insides. She kept refilling her glass with the scotch that her husband kept hidden.
Tears fell on the pages while she wrote.
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I seldom get a chance to get so drunk, I cant type right.
I am loving the feeling, as a writer, I want to capture the emotion, the moment, in words...
My eyes are aching to roll over, my head just doesn't seem right, but, I can still make out my
spellings and language. Wow.
So, I am actually drinking to drown my sorrow. Sorrow of being not able to have a child,
because I have an impotent room mate.
So, people call me the infertile woman. As if it was all my fault. As if I did all the procreation. Im sure they must have all flunked in Biology. huh.
Today, we had one of those big fights. He hit me many times, on my head, everywhere. He bit me too.
I called him impotent, that got him. He became very angry. I dont care. He hit me, hard, many times, after a point, I didnt even feel the pain, you know. It was just so, normal. As if it WAS EVERY DAY STUFF.
After we had our 'little' fight, me with all my bruises and blue marks, I went to his mom's room and sat down with my favorite friend, my laptop. It loves me unconditionally. Without any expectations.
So, when I realized my internet connection wasnt working, I came to check. I sat down on my side of the bed. I then decided to 'use' the bottle hidden up in the 'bar'. After a few pegs, I decided to let go and write this post. My head s paining with all the hits. There are some pain points but no one will see them ever. He hits like that, where no one can see. Maybe he has experience. He bites also very carefully. To make it look like a 'love bite.'
No sex, no love, all there is in this 'business of marriage' is a contract, I keep his house, he takes care of my money and allows me to be a Mrs. It is very important you see, to be a Mrs. Else, people, the old uncle from the temple, the aunty next door, they will think you are a wanton woman. I do have sexual urges. I have forgotten how it feels to be desired by a man. I dont know anymore what sex is. Anyway. I think Im too drunk to be writing sane stuff. Lemme sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day.
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The pen fell on the floor with a clang. Meera was too drunk to even notice it. She let her body glide. She fell in a small heap on the carpet. She lay there for hours.
Tears fell on the pages while she wrote.
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I seldom get a chance to get so drunk, I cant type right.
I am loving the feeling, as a writer, I want to capture the emotion, the moment, in words...
My eyes are aching to roll over, my head just doesn't seem right, but, I can still make out my
spellings and language. Wow.
So, I am actually drinking to drown my sorrow. Sorrow of being not able to have a child,
because I have an impotent room mate.
So, people call me the infertile woman. As if it was all my fault. As if I did all the procreation. Im sure they must have all flunked in Biology. huh.
Today, we had one of those big fights. He hit me many times, on my head, everywhere. He bit me too.
I called him impotent, that got him. He became very angry. I dont care. He hit me, hard, many times, after a point, I didnt even feel the pain, you know. It was just so, normal. As if it WAS EVERY DAY STUFF.
After we had our 'little' fight, me with all my bruises and blue marks, I went to his mom's room and sat down with my favorite friend, my laptop. It loves me unconditionally. Without any expectations.
So, when I realized my internet connection wasnt working, I came to check. I sat down on my side of the bed. I then decided to 'use' the bottle hidden up in the 'bar'. After a few pegs, I decided to let go and write this post. My head s paining with all the hits. There are some pain points but no one will see them ever. He hits like that, where no one can see. Maybe he has experience. He bites also very carefully. To make it look like a 'love bite.'
No sex, no love, all there is in this 'business of marriage' is a contract, I keep his house, he takes care of my money and allows me to be a Mrs. It is very important you see, to be a Mrs. Else, people, the old uncle from the temple, the aunty next door, they will think you are a wanton woman. I do have sexual urges. I have forgotten how it feels to be desired by a man. I dont know anymore what sex is. Anyway. I think Im too drunk to be writing sane stuff. Lemme sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day.
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The pen fell on the floor with a clang. Meera was too drunk to even notice it. She let her body glide. She fell in a small heap on the carpet. She lay there for hours.
Nithya,
ReplyDeleteFirst, Take a Bow !.....
I have been shadow blogging for years to relieve my solitude but I read your piece last night ...Your piece felt as if I was reading what i wanted to write for years ....just cudnt do it despite the vodkas and the singlemalts .....I was thinking abt your post today and a little distracted ....on my way back from Chennai to Bangalore and I just couldn't stop myself from imagining so may dots ...just read some of your posts and blogs , will finish each one in a few days ...I am a corporate pet and my dog leash (blackberry) will go bersek in morning .....
There is so much i want to say ....but lets say this ...we have a common friend ....called laptop ....
don't know how I stumbled upon your page ...must be thru the page where you had written about self publishing v/s agents ...
Divinity ...must be ....
Your post has left an indelible mark on my weekend ....and may be my persona .....keep writing .....Please.....