Je Ne Veux Pas Travailler

I remember how I saw the upcoming months when my StepDad was about to arrive. I said to a friend of mine: The shit is about to hit the fan.

I was wrong. The shit is hitting the fan NOW. En fait, it’s sticking like glue to the fan. And trust me, it’s not going away easily.

As if the rendezvous with Carl hadn’t left a mark on my self-esteem and my mind, I still have a huge load of shit to deal with. Not only are there countless reason to lose my hair over, they are also getting out of control. I don’t know if it’s just me but I’m really starting to think of myself as a crazy person. I thought it wasn’t supposed to happen until I was by myself, surrounded by about ten dozen dogs.

My version of being a crazy cat lady
My version of being a crazy cat lady

My work, which has always been more passion than work, is now something I detest. I would never have imagined using such a negative word for something that I love with every fiber of my being. When I wake up, I detest the thought of having to go to work. I don’t feel dressing up or putting on nice clothes to go to work. I don’t feel like working, period. Even thinking about going to work tomorrow makes me want to hide under my comforter. Ironically, I dream about being at the hotel. Like, all the time.


And no, these are not winter blues, since there’s no winter in Karachi.

My doctor told me to write down what’s bothering me and why. I wrote “Work” and I wrote “because it’s exhausting“. He just stared at me as if to say “Yes, honey, that’s why they call it work and not laze-around-in-your-jammies.”

I can’t talk to a guidance counselor or a therapist at work, on account of there not being one available. Also, I could go through an exhausting practice of trying to explain to my managers why I need to be interested in work to perform better but I can probably write the script on how that’s going to end up.

I don’t feel like showing up at university. Even though no one would shed any weight if I wasn’t attending university, but I still feel guilty for skipping. So guilty that I convince myself I’m too sick to get out of bed. Pretty little liar.

I want to have a day off now. Tomorrow. And after every few days.

Even my Mom, who’s usually very self-absorbed, suggested that I need to hang out more with friends. She said venting your problems to people helps.

With what? Spreading rumors? Excuse me, but I’m in no mood of revealing details of my personal life to the crowd of lunatics at my university. If I need to vent, I’d rather vent out to a wall.

I tried cheering myself up treating myself to a delicious meal today. I did want to take two of my friends but they had other plans. Thank God they did, or else my humiliation would have been witnessed by them as well. My debit card didn’t work today at the restaurant. Of all the days.I could see the sweat on the waiter’s face. An exhausting hour of sitting at the bank with the operations manager who was of zero help, I paid them in cash eventually.

Damn them scratches on my card. I have never been so embarrassed. Oh, wait. I have been.

And just so you know, I haven’t heard from the Abu Dhabi guys yet and I’m wondering if I’ll ever get to streak naked on their beaches. Or just be naked in Abu Dhabi.

You guys are so lucky. I tell you all the BEST ( read embarrassing) stuff. Cherish them while they last, mon ami. Why am I still having the blues?

Zareen Naqvi

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