Should I write?

Perhaps I should write. It's been long enough. I have been waiting for some inspiration to strike me. Is it writer's block? Well, I don't know. Whatever it is, I thought it was time to put down my thoughts here, in this space that I've created and hence am bound to it.

Lying in the tub, I wriggle my toes. It's a strange kind of lonliness that hits you when you are in a foreign country. A tiny whirlpool forms at the drain. The string of water looks like mercury or platinum- swoosh! Life is actually quite satisfactory. I'm in a highly privileged university. I have a comfortable house. I can even take baths. My leg stretched out doesn't llook ike my own, it's a different perspective. I feel relaxed with the music playing and the water so hot.

I should sketch. I haven't done that in a while. I pull out my pastels. Change my mind. I call my parents. Home. Always home. India. It's so filthy and so many problems. I can say whatever I want about my country but I won't tolerate anyone else saying it. Such a hypocrite. It's good to hear their voices. I hope the calling card doesn't run out of money.

I should dry my hair. It won't look like it did yesterday. I wish I could make it look like that. I should go to that salon again. Sigh. I'm hungry! Don't want to eat this late though. I have the leftover melon. Just enough to satisfy my hunger. The pastels are still lying on the table. I put them back where they belong. They've caught some dust. One of these days, soon, they will get used.

The dryer is too loud. The light is not bright enough. The bathroom floor needs to be swept. Tomorrow. Nightly routine of cleaning my face. The cleanser, eye cream, face cream. Finally, I can get to bed. There's a text message- no I won't be going to that party. Have fun. I hope the I don't have to replace that bulb anytime soon. That will be a pain.

Perhaps I should write. It's been long enough.