Sometimes, I talk about India like it's my arch-nemesis. The final straw was when I was walking home from a slightly unpleasant dept meeting that lasted from 6-about 8pm on a Thursday night. I was minding my business, listening to my ipod, and out of nowhere, my ankle rolls on the footpath. I wanted to scream out, "F*** YOU INDIA!"
A few weekends ago, I was looking for a different outfit to head out to the bazaar in. As I was rummaging, I started to find moldy clothes. A moldy cardigan, a moldy bra, and my black boots were even growing cultures. FU India.
Just yesterday, my roommate pointed out that my graduation photo album was also growing mold. FU India.
Anytime I'm out walking in the bazaar, and I keep hearing endless honking... FU India.
A few weekends ago, I was looking for a different outfit to head out to the bazaar in. As I was rummaging, I started to find moldy clothes. A moldy cardigan, a moldy bra, and my black boots were even growing cultures. FU India.
Just yesterday, my roommate pointed out that my graduation photo album was also growing mold. FU India.
Anytime I'm out walking in the bazaar, and I keep hearing endless honking... FU India.
Oh, I really relate! I think that anger must come after denial in the stages of grief... at least it has for me. There has been a lot of swearing under my breath/in my head this week (only muted because I don't need Ennis repeating any of it).
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