30 hours or so. No sleep. I’m fucked. I haven’t felt weaker.
When a man’s to be screwed, it happens in all royal glory. While the world was having fun in pubs, I (and, in all likelihood, a lot of other janitors) were working, on Friday. I hate working on Friday nights—late nights. It’s fine once in a while, but not if not working on Fridays happens once in a while.
My aunt’s got chickenpox, which she got from her daughter and, apparently, I have never had it, so my mom and practically everybody in the world has warned me against going home. There, I have no place to go. I was thinking of hauling myself at Taj Residency, but it seems too costly (I was actually kinda shocked to know that it’s a five star hotel. Everything in Bangalore looks so scaled down).
Okay, I don’t have a place. That’s still okay. What’s not okay is that all my clothes are soiled (because I haven’t been home). So I had to actually buy clothes today. Looks like I’ll have to wash my clothes now.
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