Entry: An imaginary copy of 'Waiting for Godot' Tuesday, July 13, 2010



It was a Monday. Everyone was waking up late after sleeping sometime around 4 or 4.30 am due to World Cup finals. Spain won. And for some reason, or for that reason alone, my Twitter timeline went dead quiet.

(Honestly, I found it bliss that my Twitter timeline was quiet the whole day. Although it got me asking, if I want a quiet timeline, what was I doing on Twitter in the first place?)

I choose not to go to the office and draft news packages from home instead. Overall, it was a productive day, work-wise.

I was tingly from a shower and a hair wash in the evening after a whole day of not having one. Then I decided to settle Monday with One Day, a book by David Nicholls--an impromptu, unwise purchase because of the slab of Nick Hornby’s recommendation on the front cover.

I sneak in to my sister’s big, comfy bed and started reading.

I was still trying to trace the last sentence I read in the book when she came home from her internship job. She was making some comments and questions on whether our puppies are still at home. Or has someone picked some of them yet.

“Why aren’t you surprised that I’m at home already?” I ask her when she came in to her room.

“Because this is Monday. And you usually don’t go to work on Mondays.”

She’s right of course, although this was just the one time.

I keep reading while she changed out of her work clothes.

“What’s that about?”

She meant my book.

I told her the short version of it. Two best friends, a platonic relationship, their one night of almost being a lover on a particular date, and then what happens on that particular date for years to come. How both of them turned into adults.

“So, it’s pop?”

“Yeah, you can say so.”

“Oh, good. None of that arty, heavy stuff? I want to read it then.”

“When did I ever read arty, heavy stuff?”

“Like ‘Waiting for Godot’.”

She seems to not heard my protest, that she was just naming random title. So I said it again, “I never read ‘Waiting for Godot’.” 

“Well, some guy mistaken you for that ‘arty, heavy stuff’ and got you a copy of ‘Waiting for Godot’.”

I really couldn’t remember either the guy, or the book.

Did that really happen?

   1 comments

brin
June 6, 2011   01:30 AM PDT
 
reminds me of some conversation in 'the cigarette girl' by carol wolper heheh..

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