The Fourth Day of The Week

It's Thursday already. The week (at least the working one) will end tomorrow. Time has inched forward with such dreadful slowness that it would even make a snail's gait look like a PT Usha on the tracks. Nothing has happened. The deal is still stuck. The new one is still in a limbo. The boss is still not very happy, though to give him a fair credit, he did send a small encouraging note a couple of days back. The last Tuesday meeting that happened had set a few balls rolling. Exactly from one and a hour from now, some fresh impetus would be imparted to it. The rains lashed the valley intermittantly, as if too bored to even wash it with their full energies. The temperature swings from the hot to the cool like an uninterested child's yo-yo. The conversations and the meetings happen and proceed with the passion of a dull drama. The mail-box pathetically opens its sad arms to heartless mails that will never return, akin to a desert awaiting its parched rains. The food that I cook tastes bitter. Anger within me boils over at the slightest of flames.

Overall, things are status quo.