I wait for the weekend the entire week, counting the remaining days on my fingers till I can squeal in delight over how there’s no alarm clock the next morning. When I leave for work every day, my balcony is already flooded with tremendously inviting sunshine – the kind that makes me reconsider the point of leaving the house. When the weekend arrives, I tell myself, I will lap up as much sunshine as I can, sitting out in a green-field with a picnic basket and a book.
I lived out a two-day weekend recently and did just that, never mind how the green field was mostly my bed and the picnic basket a Chinese takeaway. I did enjoy the sun on a particularly warm late afternoon, when R and I ventured out into a world that seemed freshly laundered. Sleep, I have heard, does that to you, especially when you get it after a long, zombie-like time.
Tomorrow is the Indian Republic Day and many offices, as well as my productivity meter, will remain shut. But logically, a case can be made for the healing power of sleep, food and idle thought. Those three in an unending loop are what I often need to revive myself from murderous routines, romance killers, bloodsucking commutes and demoralizing workdays. To be honest, it isn’t even a revival; it’s a resurrection.
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