Last week I had a couple of visitors: my brother and his (infinitely) better half P. The fact that it would be an exciting week was beyond question. And a delightful week it was. But more importantly I learnt a thing or two about myself.
1. I'm quite the hyperventilating perfectionist. I always thought myself to be calm, almost stoic and perfection was never up on my priority list anyway. As long as I did a decent job I was happy. But when my brother told me about his plans of coming down to Seattle for a few days along with P, I freaked. I wanted to do ten thousand things with them and couldn't for the life of me decide on an itinerary. And considering I had a whole spectrum of activities to choose from, ranging from whale watching to sky diving, it didn't make my job any easier. I would make a list every morning, and then over the course of the day, painfully scratch the items off of it, one by one, on the grounds of whether it was too over-the-top-bordering-on-impossible or just plain lame. I always prided myself in making quick decisions. Well that went for a toss! Although what I ended up deciding for them wasn't half as bad and they really liked the plan (or at least that's what I would like to believe), what I went through to get there was far from pleasant. I guess I'll just hire a travel agent next time to do all the planning for me while I do absolutely nothing but snore noisily. Oh!! But I'm not an investment banker. I forgot I was a grad student with no money. Dayam!
2. There's hardly any difference between me and a paranoid housewife. Why? Cos I couldn't decide what to cook for my guests. Not that they were particularly finicky eaters. But they cook quite well. Both of them. And considering not many people have eaten anything I cooked over the last year, there was ample room for self doubt. I couldn't decide whether to cook chicken or beef. So I called up my brother and asked what he preferred. He said "Should we get some food?". The faith he showed in my culinary abilities was disturbingly low. Annoyed, a teensy bit hurt and out to prove a point, I decided to cook both. And the time frame I was wrestling against turned out to be rather formidable. I cooked and I cooked and I cooked till the house smelt of a strange concoction of spices. I couldn't tell if it was good or bad cos my nose was blocked. Such immaculate timing! Not happy with just savory entrees, I decided on good old traditional apple pie for dessert. Excited to see how it looks, I tried taking it out of the oven and singed myself against the burning upper rack! Ouch. I almost dropped the pie on the floor and almost closed the oven door on my fingers. None of which thankfully happened. Exhausted, injured and with a severely deflated ego I decided to end this ordeal and crash. Only I couldn't sleep. Not a wink. For three whole nights. Man! I'm glad they lapped up everything I prepared for them. But this paranoid housewife syndrome is NOT cool.
3. I've apparently lost a ton of weight. Or so they thought. My brother politely put it as, 'You look like a hanger!' Honesty can be quite painful. If you ask me, lying is the way to go. But now that it was out in the open, and I couldn't exactly deny it, I asked him what I could do to address the issue of uncontrolled weight loss, knowing fully well what the answer would be. Exercise.*Shudder*. So here's the deal. From as far back as I remember, I've always hated exercise or anything that remotely involves the movement of limbs. I could sit on my ass for days without getting off my bed, holding a cup of coffee, watching my favourite TV show and you wouldn't hear so much as a wince while my insides rot. I'm quite certain I was one of those lazy feudal landlords, with a hundred servants, one fanning me from above, one pouring wine in my ornate brass chalice, and another giving me a relaxing foot massage while I revel in the decadence of it all. Bliss. In my defense, I did try joining the gym for a couple of months last summer but gave it up soon enough, complaining about it being stinky, and them not having enough equipment (which is a lie!) and that the trainers were conspicuously overweight (which is true!) and hence far from being the 'well-toned' example they were supposed to set. Fine, I agree they were mostly excuses. But hell, it was boring. Not to mention, I could feel muscles in my body I thought I never had, and the feeling was far from rewarding. I felt like a bag of brittle bones threatening to snap with every move. If anyone has gymmed seriously even for a few weeks and not spent their time staring at themselves in the mirror, admiring their non-existent muscles, they would know the truth in this. Anyway having established how lazy I really am, I decided to take charge and start doing some exercise. Maybe swimming (which I used to love when I was a kid) or running (which is a lot more convenient cos the University gym is quite some distance away. Averse to exercise remember? I'm not going to be a completely changed man overnight, right?!) So yesterday I went running in the evening. A thirty minute brisk run. I almost died panting. But it was totally worth it. And I felt alive and totally in control which is an awesome feeling. Except that I can't feel my legs today and am already having second thoughts about going running tonight. Divine intervention needed. NOW.
1. I'm quite the hyperventilating perfectionist. I always thought myself to be calm, almost stoic and perfection was never up on my priority list anyway. As long as I did a decent job I was happy. But when my brother told me about his plans of coming down to Seattle for a few days along with P, I freaked. I wanted to do ten thousand things with them and couldn't for the life of me decide on an itinerary. And considering I had a whole spectrum of activities to choose from, ranging from whale watching to sky diving, it didn't make my job any easier. I would make a list every morning, and then over the course of the day, painfully scratch the items off of it, one by one, on the grounds of whether it was too over-the-top-bordering-on-impossible or just plain lame. I always prided myself in making quick decisions. Well that went for a toss! Although what I ended up deciding for them wasn't half as bad and they really liked the plan (or at least that's what I would like to believe), what I went through to get there was far from pleasant. I guess I'll just hire a travel agent next time to do all the planning for me while I do absolutely nothing but snore noisily. Oh!! But I'm not an investment banker. I forgot I was a grad student with no money. Dayam!
2. There's hardly any difference between me and a paranoid housewife. Why? Cos I couldn't decide what to cook for my guests. Not that they were particularly finicky eaters. But they cook quite well. Both of them. And considering not many people have eaten anything I cooked over the last year, there was ample room for self doubt. I couldn't decide whether to cook chicken or beef. So I called up my brother and asked what he preferred. He said "Should we get some food?". The faith he showed in my culinary abilities was disturbingly low. Annoyed, a teensy bit hurt and out to prove a point, I decided to cook both. And the time frame I was wrestling against turned out to be rather formidable. I cooked and I cooked and I cooked till the house smelt of a strange concoction of spices. I couldn't tell if it was good or bad cos my nose was blocked. Such immaculate timing! Not happy with just savory entrees, I decided on good old traditional apple pie for dessert. Excited to see how it looks, I tried taking it out of the oven and singed myself against the burning upper rack! Ouch. I almost dropped the pie on the floor and almost closed the oven door on my fingers. None of which thankfully happened. Exhausted, injured and with a severely deflated ego I decided to end this ordeal and crash. Only I couldn't sleep. Not a wink. For three whole nights. Man! I'm glad they lapped up everything I prepared for them. But this paranoid housewife syndrome is NOT cool.
3. I've apparently lost a ton of weight. Or so they thought. My brother politely put it as, 'You look like a hanger!' Honesty can be quite painful. If you ask me, lying is the way to go. But now that it was out in the open, and I couldn't exactly deny it, I asked him what I could do to address the issue of uncontrolled weight loss, knowing fully well what the answer would be. Exercise.*Shudder*. So here's the deal. From as far back as I remember, I've always hated exercise or anything that remotely involves the movement of limbs. I could sit on my ass for days without getting off my bed, holding a cup of coffee, watching my favourite TV show and you wouldn't hear so much as a wince while my insides rot. I'm quite certain I was one of those lazy feudal landlords, with a hundred servants, one fanning me from above, one pouring wine in my ornate brass chalice, and another giving me a relaxing foot massage while I revel in the decadence of it all. Bliss. In my defense, I did try joining the gym for a couple of months last summer but gave it up soon enough, complaining about it being stinky, and them not having enough equipment (which is a lie!) and that the trainers were conspicuously overweight (which is true!) and hence far from being the 'well-toned' example they were supposed to set. Fine, I agree they were mostly excuses. But hell, it was boring. Not to mention, I could feel muscles in my body I thought I never had, and the feeling was far from rewarding. I felt like a bag of brittle bones threatening to snap with every move. If anyone has gymmed seriously even for a few weeks and not spent their time staring at themselves in the mirror, admiring their non-existent muscles, they would know the truth in this. Anyway having established how lazy I really am, I decided to take charge and start doing some exercise. Maybe swimming (which I used to love when I was a kid) or running (which is a lot more convenient cos the University gym is quite some distance away. Averse to exercise remember? I'm not going to be a completely changed man overnight, right?!) So yesterday I went running in the evening. A thirty minute brisk run. I almost died panting. But it was totally worth it. And I felt alive and totally in control which is an awesome feeling. Except that I can't feel my legs today and am already having second thoughts about going running tonight. Divine intervention needed. NOW.
No comments:
Post a Comment