The body hurts. The fingers don’t want to type, the wrists refuse to cooperate, the shoulder grimaces each time I make a typing error. The knees don’t like me walking or using stairs, the forearm throbs. The back, for a change, feels ok. But then I exercise it everyday.
The eye hurts. I recently found that my power has gone up. This was after I got faulty lenses on a new frame which weren’t centred. I got them fixed and there’s a lot of respite. Am typing without wearing them though. I even read without wearing them. With more power, I can notice the difference between wearing and not wearing glasses, and this hurts my eyes.
I cycled 17 kms 2 days back. It felt hard. A lot harder than usual. A brief stopover and I filled air for 40 PSI. By the halfway mark it was down to 28. That’s all it could endure. I left the cycle for servicing today. Hopefully they’ll fix it.
I painted the gate, all of 8 ft X 6ft on Good Friday. It took me 2.5 hours. The entire body rose up as one and protested the rest of the day. I went to sleep hoping for relief. Next morning I woke up and went to play tennis. The body hated it, but I loved it. I won. The body spent the rest of the day licking its wounds.
I want to read a book. But there are far too many unread, and I can’t pick one. It’s hard finding time to read, says the mind. Weekdays are hard. Weekends are hot and lazy, and harder. Reading 20 pages causes sleep. Sleep, where the characters play out in your dreams.
It’s the summer, I tell myself. The lips feel dry, the throat craves liquids. Drink more water, except that the lethargy is all pervading. The mind doesn’t want to get up and go. The lazy fan and the drenched half body not withstanding.
I try going out, but the heat lies draped like a blanket. 37°C says the weather app. There is also dust. And sweat. And the thirst. And having to wait at treeless junctions amidst the honks, the smoke and the extra heat. Traffic-less days, they seem like a mirage from childhood.
A few more weeks, there’ll be rains, there’ll be respite. We’ve been through this, I tell my body. No, this time is different, it says. DO SOMETHING! It screams. Another muscle starts spasms to drive home the point.
I need a break. Where I don’t do anything. Where I can go away from everything there is. Where I relearn the art of being still, not doing anything. Where I don’t have to endure so much pain, where there is no activity that causes pain. Where I don’t have to contort myself to fit into a seat. Where I don’t have to worry about my shoulders not being relaxed.
But maybe it’s all in the mind. The search for a home. For a place to come to and relax, and not have to get going again on a new thing.
Maybe I should just drink more water.