Commuting

Since buying the motorbike, I’ve been commuting on the thing for about a month now. Ever since I got the thing, and a while before, I’ve been reading up on everything I could do to it and how it works.Most online resources are brimming with people who take motorcycling as a hobby. They’re all about waving at other riders and have ridiculously spotless bikes. The resources were useful though, and I’ve figured out how to take the thing apart and mess around with it. And it still works!

I always thought people were overreacting when they moaned about the traffic here. I was so, so wrong. So wrong I could have been a woman walking out of a kitchen.

Other than the occasional glimmer of hope in the form of a bus driver waving you ahead or a car giving way, it’s full of people outright trying to murder you. Cars honking at you when you’re trying to maintain a following distance, people merging into you and the worst of the lot, random vehicles leaning on their horns the moment a light turns green. I mean, what do they hope to accomplish? Is everyone under the impression that the horn is some magical device that’s going to blast all the other cars out of your way and rain down naked women(or men) on your laps while you’re at it?

If it is, mine’s definitely not working right.

Other people actually look surprised when you’re considerate towards em. Pedestrians smile! I’m like, what? And oh God, the motorcyclists.

How does everyone do this? Do you just gradually give into the madness and join in it?

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Grownups

The last few days have been pretty strange. Friday I managed to get a fever, which I thought was just some light food poisoning from something I’d cooked(more on this later. much more).  Sunday had me at a doctor’s office, sitting in the chair flashing my torso at her.

As I was leaving, the nurses clung to me screaming “But you can’t have chicken pox! Your beautiful skin! What will we do??”, to which I calmly replied that I would deal with it like a man, and that any scars would just add to the ruggedness. The doctor slowly wiped a tear as she watched from a distance.

Apparently delusions aren’t a symptom of chicken pox.

So I’ve been lying mostly in bed for the last three days. Lobbing a handful of pills down my throat every five hours; I’ve had a lot of time to think. Most of it was about how unpleasant lying on my back for extended periods of time was, or how the pox seemed to have found my face to be the most fertile ground for multiplication. Some of this time was spent thinking about this whole “being adult” business. Which probably has something to do with why I haven’t been very prolific with the updates here, too.

My mom moved to India a few months ago, beginning the Great Exodus of the Pereira’s. The rest will probably go over in the years to come. This essentially means I’ve been left to my own devices as far as feeding myself is concerned.

As you can all see, I’m not dead yet.

I just had to get that out of the way (HAH, naysayers!). Cooking has turned out to be not unbearable and definitely produces results that I’m more than glad to eat. I actually look forward to consuming the stuff. Which is a little alarming, truth be told. Among other changes involve all the rest that come along with just generally living. Like cleaning things. Washing clothes.

Ironing.

Urgh.

I’ve also finally gotten that two-wheeled transport I was thinking of for a while. Meaning I won’t look like I’ve been in a sweatshop for six hours every time I go meet up with my friends.

Anyway, all these changes have just thrown themselves at me like so many damp cats. Unpleasant. But at the same time completely do-able. This is what regular people do with their regular lives. So this is “being grown up”. A coworker doing the same kind of work I was doing got married recently. Married!

My maternal grandad never really spoke to me about anything of substance. I was too young, and rarely saw him. He probably disliked me for stealing all his vitamin C tablets every time, too. But one random thing he did say that stuck in my head for some reason was that “no one ever really grows up”, or something. That’s actually very reassuring.