Much has happened since my last post.
Said yes to a fairly dubious job offer in Bangalore. Conveyed the news to my current employers. Slipped into the delicious, nirvanaesque haze that accompanies every notice period.
Spent a week in Bombay. Which means old friends and real conversation and far too much alcohol than can really be healthy.
Shot a couple of commercials, which improved my already terrific mood -- I quite like shoots. Shot some stills with a bunch of Icelandic and Russian models, who gave me some great images while absolutely wrecking my self-esteem. Life isn't fair to 34 year-old Creative Directors who don't look bad for their age, but can't hold a candle to gorgeous (and, coincidentally, young) international models.
Missed a good friend's wedding. Hope he forgives me. And that marriage is all that he wants it to be.
Came back to sweltering Madras. And I have just two words for anyone who thinks I'm exaggerating: thirty-nine, degrees.
Slept through the second semi-final against Villareal last night, but woke up to the stunning fact that Arsenal is in the Champions League final, la, la, laaa.
Read lots of Murakami and McCall Smith in hotel rooms, and on flights. Started reading a stunning first book called Incendiary, by someone called Chris Cleave. Its subhead reads A Novel of Unbearable Devastation and Unbounded Love, but don't let that put you off. It's exquisite, and I know this post will be shorter than it deserves to be simply because I need to get back to it.
All in all, it's been a time of getting back in touch with the people in my life who really matter (and that includes myself). Of copious drinking, and zero working out. Of good days, both, now, and in the past. Of happiness of the kind that truly suits me.
I don't quite know what lies ahead, but, with every passing day, I'm feeling more and more like myself.
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