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The second last piece of chicken

 I'm not a big fan of chicken. Or beef. Or pork. Or mutton. Or lamb. I do like fish but developed an allergy to prawns in my old age. As if gravity pulling my entire body to the earth with twice as much gusto wasn't enough, now I can't eat prawns either. Well, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck. Moving on, I had such lovely crispy chicken yesterday all layered up in the sauce of perfection that I wanted to take it all the way to Dubai from Colombo and pledge my undying loyalty to it. I am a bona-fide fan on the crispy chicken at the Bay leaf restaurant in the city of Colombo. I'll come back for you another day, my love, you beautiful Crispy Chicken. And I'll never forget the aching sadness in my tummy when I looked at the second last piece of you with the knowing that soon you'll be drowned in bitter digestive juices and become a part of me. Au revoir, Chicken. I love you. And now, I must run. Until later, Stay feral, kids!
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The missed deadline

 I made a promise to myself that I would write something here even if it was just a word but it's past midnight and I missed the deadline already. I'm not in the least disappointed though because considering the day I've had, I'm so proud of myself for writing a few words with a mildly aching wrist and eyes overcome with fatigue.  It's a beautiful kind of tired, when you know that the upcoming slumber will be deep and dark albeit rather short. The morning sun will rise in my eyes with the promise of both expected and sudden joys. I wish you a quiet rest tonight, May you know the sleep of innocents and may you treasure it. Until tomorrow,  Stay feral, kids!
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Feral

Well, here goes nothing major. This blog is the result of my utter dissatisfaction with Instagram. I'm going to risk sacrilege and parody the bard himself, Mr. Bob Dylan whose voice I detest, "How many posts must a woman write to finally understand that no one on Social Media reads a single fucking thing." And now, I'm duly distracted and want to call the husband because as expected my brain is blank. A blank brain is a nice thing though, as an expert meditator once told me," Someday your mind will be blank for more than fifteen seconds." I have serious doubts about my brain's ability to do that, however my mind does remain quiet for three seconds in a row when I meditate once in three weeks. Yes, meditation for fifteen minutes once in three weeks doesn't show you any concrete results in a hurry. You find yourself going feral every now and then, the only difference is that now one of those times you hold back the "feral" from manifesting in...
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