It started with a feather.

I went to INA market with Roselyn today, and it was like, foie gras day or something, because about a thousand geese were on their way to french food heaven. And there were all these feather bits floating around in the air, and it tickled my nose, and I sharply inhaled, and a big feather flew to the back of my throat and pasted itself there. And remained pasted there as I did the "please, please let that goose have had it's shots" dance.

I can't sleep. My stomach is all aflutter with thoughts of feather mites. Help.

Sometimes I have definate negative feelings towards this country, like today when it rained and I really came to believe that it was held together by spit, shit and a couple good prayers, and today the validation date came and went on the prayers and everybody had to start spitting to beat the band just to hold their houses together. And really, can you really not wait another couple of minutes to piss in your own home, instead of on the side of the street where that scraggly ass bush is doing nothing to hide you? And really, we can see you picking your nose. Contrary to popular belief, I have discovered that it is NOT the national pastime - picking your ass in public is. And no, if you don't have the red one in small, madame does not need the purple one in large. And when I stand at the front of the line to wait, why am I invariably last if I blink? Just because there is an inch between me and the counter does not mean I'm waiting for you to go first. And just because I'm white, and haven't yet discovered the phrase for "Hey buddy, up here" does not give you licence to look at my boobs. Your women have breasts - hell, half of them even have back fat that LOOKS like an extra pair of breasts. Why are mine so interesting? If I see you kick one more dog/sweeper woman/piece of garbage, I'm going to snap. Use a damn garbage can, and have some respect. When is Tuesday not going to mean next week sometime, maybe on a Tuesday, but probably not the one you were thinking of?

I'm laughing while I write this - I suppose they all contribute to making India a place that yes, I shake my head at, but yes - I really do love. All the funny things, all the cow crap and queue jumpers and nose pickers and boob oglers. I really have come to love it all.

Except for maybe the goose feathers.