William the Shakespeare wrote some awesome tragedies – at least that’s what critics opine.
He wrote about a man who got nagged by his wife to kill his king
He wrote about a pothead klutz who hung around graveyards and managed to kill himself while trying for vengeance
He wrote about a pair of moronic imbeciles who committed suicide because the whole concept of breath in breath out was a mystery to them
He wrote about a king who was Brutally murdered
He wrote about a luj character who lusted after one Ceaser’s wife and who rebelled against another Ceaser
He wrote about a king who was an idiot and got his arse handed out to him by his daughters
And he wrote about a man doing ‘honour killing’ of his daughter (so its not only a sub continental phenomenon people; people are heinous idiots worldwide)
But all those tragedies pale into insignificance when compared to the wonder that is my life.
My mental problems, scars and battles with depression are known only to a few, cared for by even fewer, helped by nobody.
My organic – see what I did there – or physiological problems are far more numerous in errr number.
Remember that Operation board game from our childhoods? My body is like an extreme version of that. Whatever you touch is malfunctioning.
Go ahead, pick an organ, any organ – bam, its not working and I have to take meds for that.
I have accepted all that.
What gets my goat is the inexplicable stuff.
Today, I woke up and my left ear started bleeding.
Its life’s and nature’s way of telling me “fuck you, that’s why”
And it was my left ear, mind you. Not my right ear. As you may or may not know, my right ear is already damaged and my hearing is impaired in that one. So any further damage to that is par for the course and not too great a loss.
But no, it has to be left ear which starts acting up.
The only positive that can come out of this is complete deafness which will lead to my mom, my bosses, Jyotika Khullar et all having to learn sign language in order to shout at me.
I am going down in a blaze of medicines people.
Shakespeare should have written about me.
There is a fine line between comedy and tragedy.
My life story would have been his first farce.