petty gypsy -- not a typo - petty and not pretty

Right now, i am supposed to be coding. But my mind keeps slipping away to places i would rather not visit. i don’t know why but i am morose. i left the house in a huff today (slammed the door as hard as my tiny hands could - hope the hinges have fallen off).

He says he cannot read my mind and i should speak out and get things off my chest instead of smoldering inside! i am not the kind to keep things inside – in fact i am the type who cannot keep anything inside. But i have been noticing this change inside me – i am withdrawing into a shell when it comes to him. As much i think I love him (see, even the choice of words – “i think”!), i find myself turning into a “silent brooding” bitch. Why, i don’t want to fathom. i guess i am so tired of our fights. Even though we inevitably make up, fights do take a toll on relationships - don’t they? How do we transform into such ugly creatures when we fight – shouting at each other, refusing to see the other side of the picture? We should be shot for trying to destroy such a beautiful relationship. Maybe they knew what they were saying when they said too much of love is not good –

bahut zyada pyaar bhi
accha nahin hota
kabhi damaan chudana
ho toh muskil hota he

We fight. i sulk. He lights up cigarette after cigarette (just to bug me, i suppose, as i cannot stand smoking – how idiotic of him to cut his nose to spite his face). Then one of us will make a move, ask something inane like ‘are we even going to eat tonight?” – the other has been waiting all the while for the ice to melt. The tone would be cold – as if it would not matter even if we starved to death. That would be enough to start the thaw – well, not all the times. Sometimes, it takes more than that.

i am going to sneak off after office and buy something nice for him. i should not have lost my temper in the morning - i hope the door is still standing. i was mean to him. OK, i will cook something nice for him and wait for him to come home – if he says anything mean to me, then i shall pour the whole dish over his head (I would have to stand on a chair for that).


Why am i making this blog like a fight-diary??? But then, hell, this is my blog and i shall write what i choose to.

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He called me up 5 minutes back – said he would try to come out early and we could go buy the microwave we didn’t buy yesterday (because his highness’s mood got spoiled because a certain someone stayed silent and sulked when she learned that the plan to go to Imphal might not materialize because of his project delivery schedule! I am not good at handling disappointments). Anyway, slammed door forgotten, we would be leaving to go get the microwave – at last. At least, i can use it to roast his clothes next time instead of slamming the door. My, my – such petty nature. So what?