There is a hole in my retina. It is a precursor to retinal detachment. I have to get a laser done to close the hole. A called today, and said, among other things, that she wanted to take ma and me to a safe place and keep us there. It made me wonder, because, thankfully, I've stopped wanting that kind of escape.
I have been thinking of the shooting pains in my lower back which come and go and whether they might mean something bad as well. Given my luck, they could be.
What scares me is that my eyes are everything. My job depends on it, as does my being able to take care of ma, and of my life. Without it, I am totally handicapped. Such few cushions. None, really. If it's not me, it's nothing. There's no one to step in.
And this is how it will be. Don't worry, K said. But I don't. I know there's nothing but the next step that you take.
And Rimi di smokes. What kind of foolhardiness is this?

When life feels like total shit, and even when it doesn't, it's good to take a short holiday and escape. One of my favourite escapes is the world of Queer as Folk, with the beautiful people, the heaving bodies at Babylon in a world so removed from mine that I know the two shall never meet. :-) This had seemed frustrating when I was watching the series for the first time in Kolkata, but I am more accepting of it now. After all, what would I do in such a world? And a place like Babylon must stink beyond any usual miasma of male sweat that I am familiar with. :-)))
We shifted to a new place. A bare place, an unfamiliar place, surrounded by views of more brick and mortar: how pretentious this language this. But I know this too shall become bearable. Habit, that wonderful equaliser, time, that eraser of all that is unbearable. Put one foot in front of the other, line up the days one behind the other, prop them up with routine, and before you know, another unbearable chunk of time will have passed. If you are so disoriented you don't know what to do, sleep. That's what I did over the weekend: slept and read, alternately, interspersed with meals. Then I got desperate and had to finish the Rebus book I was reading, so stayed up the night and bunked office the day after. It was almost worth it. Some things don't change. The early morning, seen from the many many windows of this house, was almost worth the bunking. Then, it was another anaesthetising day, as I watched Oscar and Golden Globe footage on YouTube, took that long-delayed bath, had the fuse blow up in the bathroom while I was waiting for the immersion rod to heat up the water. Still haven't paid the pending huge electric bill.
The day ends with some lovely videos of Peter Paige. I like him so much. He is so very charming.
I curse my mother all the time, but I know the shift would not have been merely disorienting if she weren't here. I remember how hard it was when I first shifted to the other house, how hard it was when I came to Delhi. I felt completely out of all bearings. Her presence gives me things to do and makes any place home, and when I don't do things, like day before, she supplies me food and indulges my occasional whims and little cruelties, like when I ask for food at 1 in the morning. If I had shifted alone, I would have retained much more of the packed stuff, worked myself to exhaustion, and gone to bed dirty and hardly having eaten anything, or ordering in food that would have made me feel like shit later.

In good news, the black puppies have grown a lot, and they stood on front legs hooked on my arms and licked my face the day I was shifting. They are adorable, absolutely adorable.