Dec 16, 2009

Sunday - when luck shines on the restless few

As a student, I never really stopped to think about what a Sunday could possibly mean. For me, it was just another holiday lost in the throng of holidays waiting for me. Summer holidays, Diwali holidays, Christmas holidays. Just another way to let out all the ‘supposed’ stress that education put me through. The days would come and go by with me doing little more than plopping my lazy behind on the couch and flipping through channels. And then I grew up.
I always thought that the end of college spelt freedom for me. For three years, I waited to step out and get myself a wonderful career, earn a lot of money and spend it without a thought. My working friends would smile knowingly and ask me to make the most of my college days, as those were the days where freedom was easy to gain. I, however, thought they were wrong. Now, I often wish I could go back to those times and kick some sense into my tiny little brains. I wish I could go back and tell myself to make the most of my college days. Because lately, freedom is one of those little items in my list of ‘unachievable dreams’.
My first job was not really a job. I barely had anything to do, and as my colleagues often said, it was ‘chilled out’. A year went by, and I did not achieve much, and soon, it was time for me to move on. And then came the real world, crashing down upon me like an avalanche, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I spend 6 days a week, innumerable hours a day, cooped up in what we call ‘the dungeon’ trying to achieve 10 things at one go. That is when I realise how grateful I am for the joy of 'Sundays'.
Throughout the week, the one thing that helps me grin and bear the ups and downs is the thought of the Sunday, my light at the end of the dark and dreary tunnel. A Sunday where I can stay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing. A Sunday where I will not be plagued by alarms, deadlines, lunatic project managers, marketing people who think they are the next David Ogilvy and clients who pay us to communicate and end up doing most of it themselves, because creativity seems to evade them like the plague. A Sunday that is just for me and my crazy thoughts, a break from the daily roller-coaster ride. My day of peace and unashamed laziness. My day to tell the world to go take a hike, because I have the divine right to stay plonked on the bed all day and not give a hoot about a deadline; the client won't die if his brochure says '4-6 hours' instead of '6 hours' for a few more minutes. Something as trivial as this is forbidden to wrench me out of my paradise and fling me into the deepest pits of hell. So here goes, Sunday is MY day. No matter what anyone says or does, Sunday is the one day I refuse to wrack my tiny brains, even for something as inconsequential as deciding on a meal.

Dec 10, 2009

Old Mrs.Higgins

Here's a poem I wrote at work today, something I worked on within 10 minutes!

Old Mrs. Higgins
Had 5 little kittens
She kept them warm and dry.
She wrapped them in mittens,
She was oh so smitten,
And fed them steak and kidney pie.

As the days went by
They gobbled each pie
And grew up to be big, fat cats
They ate and they slept
They stretched and they crept
And scratched Mrs. Higgins' best mats.

This Christmas, I wish I was invisible

It's been a long time since I visited my blog, forget updating it. Work has been putting me through a freak storm, my thoughts are actually on a roller-coaster ride - from writing fun Grammar activities to finishing a book on the dos and don'ts of pregnancy to promoting a movie I strongly hate - it has been one heck of a joy ride (you should see the way my eyes roll every time they see the word 'joy').
Let's start with the pregnancy book. To expect a 22 year old single woman to write a book on what to expect every single week of your blessed pregnancy is a little too far fetched. Not for this particular client though. It was generously spread out onto my plate. I wont say it was a complete disaster. I can proudly say that I actually know more than most of my pregnant friends and relatives about pregnancy. And for once, the client had nothing to change. It was simply perfect. No 'turn the will to shall', no 'attached seems like a cool word when writing to a pregnant woman about her baby' (well, duh!) no 'freak the pregnant woman out'. Just perfect.
As for the grammar activities, that was the only bright side to this month long journey through the dark tunnel, the one place where I could just let the creativity flow. No annoying client pestering you for ridiculous changes, no project manager breathing fire down your neck for deadlines. Nothing. I would plop down into our creative corner, known as the 'think bar' (Don't get too excited, there is no alcohol in that little corner) and let my thought fly.
The books seem to be coming to an end though. The dark side is taking over. Earlier, I faced one of the most challenging task ever - promoting a movie I detest. Not that it is racist or gory, it is plain and simple daft. You need to realize that children do no fall for lame magic crap anymore. No one needs a pathetic kid with the ability to 'almost die and yet survive' when you have stuff like boy wizards, cooler super heroes and vampires to entice you. And yet, I was forced to churn out lines that would make anybody cringe every single time they so much as glanced at the poster. Courtesy a stuck up marketing executive who thinks creativity comes naturally to her...far from it, the woman is the exact antithesis of the word 'creativity'. The challenging part is to get your creative idea to the client when such blocks of wood stand in your way. Did I say wood? I meant tempered titanium steel.
So Santa Claus, I ask for just one thing this Christmas. The power to be invisible. Even if I misused it by killing someone, I would be doing the world a favour by getting rid of that evil maniac. I need a break too. I work hard to make sure I can enjoy life without any financial glitches coming my way, but I fail to find time to enjoy. My friends greet me with glares instead of affection, my mother has simply given up and my best friend seldom sees me, even though we live right opposite each other. As far as I can remember, last Christmas I asked for a happy life. And i am far from it. Santa Claus, make me happy or the consequences will be fatal. Sorry, I didn't mean that, just be nice and make sure that this Christmas, I am at home with my family having a good time, not rotting away in the dungeon trying to scare a pregnant woman or teach a dumb someone how to roast.