Let the world spin madly on

She had enough work to keep herself busy that day. If only she chose to be busy. She pushed back her swivel chair with her feet against the wall and then started spinning on it. As she spun endlessly she sang “The world spins madly on”, inside her head.

Songs –even the saddest ones- always made her happy –even if she sang them only inside her head- they made her feel alive. Songs were her secret weapon, her coping mechanism for all kinds of situation.

There was something in the 19° Celsius cool air of the conditioned room that day. It woke up the hibernating rebel in her. “Rebel” being the little girl who just wanted to spin madly on in an office where she was surrounded with people who lived to work.
She didn’t give a fuck about the fact that she was distracting the men. Some of them were tch-ing, some were just staring, and others were simply looking through her. Truth be told there were a couple who were indifferent.

Mostly she loved the fact that the men were indifferent towards her. She was the only female in the whole department and still nobody had given the slightest hint of attraction towards her. Nobody really cared enough to judge her. Four out of six days at work she walked in dressed in men’s clothes. She yawned like men, shamelessly letting out the loud “Haaai-aai-aai-ai..”. She let out that burp that smelt of one and half plate of mo:mo she had for lunch with the guys. On days, when she was flatulent, she didn’t have to worry much because at least 3 out of 7 men she worked with were flatulent on a regular basis and one sat right next to her.

However, there were times when she wondered if she really didn’t possess any female charm. There were times when she went back home to check herself out from top to bottom. Not that it was a big deal. She was in love and the guy she loved had always smartly assured that there was no other woman he was so attracted to. She had a choice, but she chose to believe him. She always knew that sometime believing in things brought happiness. She was happy.

She stopped spinning to look for the word that had stuck somewhere in between the part of the brain that stored memories and the other part of the brain that gave her language orders. She knew the word, but she didn’t. She had forgotten the name of that character, from Mad Men.

For some time now she was struggling with names. Names of the characters, of movies, of books, of people, of places of every noun possible on the face of earth.

“Ah! Peggy, I am her” she said to herself, once google gave her the name. People often looked upon her as a naïve, little one. She was always more than what people thought of her. Every now and then she was more than what she thought of herself.

That day however, she did not want to be intelligent, or attractive or any other adjective. She pushed her chair back with her feet against the wall and started spinning madly on.

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you’d gone
and let the world spin madly on


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