Always get me down. So goes the song, of perhaps The Carpenters? And of course, when
Medusa hears this sad song and thinks of The
Carpenters she also remembers that Karen Carpenter died, from anorexia. So
there, the sadness in the song makes sense.
And it makes sense in this glorious weather when for
once, the people without ACs feel as good about themselves as people with ACs
must.
As Medusa sits at her dining table, having discarded her desk
since it cannot be cluttered as extensively as the larger table can- she looks
out of the window and sees the rain. In the morning, in the afternoon, in the
evening and at night. It rains, it pours, it drizzles and the wind blows and it
is dark and damp all the time. The opposite houses look dull, the
forever-playing-cricket children stay indoors, downstairs, or maybe upstairs,
people cook food that smell tasty and sparrows come visit her, seeking shelter.
The streets are more o less perpetually waterlogged, she
has nowhere to go, no one to meet and except writing, nothing to do. She loves
it, loves it enough to worry about the time when this perfection will end. When
she will have to go back to work, when the rains will stop, when the sun will come
out and when others will lay claim to this ennui.
But till then, rainy days and Mondays.
