Of small strokes, and large cokes.

A while ago, on an unsuspecting Tuesday afternoon- after an innocent economics extra lecture, I figured I was worried. I don't know what I want to do in life, i have no clue about the status of my scores, my friends aren't really pleased with my lack of time to spend with them, and more often than not I end up sleeping disgruntled.
I walked down and sat through a perfect 30 minutes watching my friends audition for a band and i enjoyed myself thoroughly.
The bit that followed was tiring.and upsetting. While somewhere not very far from where i was, my friend sobbed over the increasing pressure of cultural activities- I stood at a window in LR 52 and cried at the confusion in my life. And while KT tried to assure me how it's all going to be okay- I cried some more at what an awful person i was. And while the people behind me wondered what was wrong, another friend not too far away again, toyed with the idea of backing out of a committee because she was denied a deserving post. Life, a lot of times, is a bitch.
I left college alone- after a long time. Usually, i travel with friends. sometimes it's some one's car. Today everyone had their own plans- Malhar, binge drinking, a date. My phone had died, the battery was upset too. I had no company, no music, and nothing to read. Unless i wanted to spend the last bit of my brilliant day reading labour unions and monopolistic competition. On a admittedly geeky note, that wouldn't have been so bad.
At the station, I ran into you. You were heading home and looked like a mess yourself. But hell knows why, you offered to buy me a burger. At this point, I should tell you I am a die-hard foodie. Offer me a brownie when I am crying blood, and in minutes I cheer up. So as the rain splashed on the glass windows of Mcdonalds in an ironically movie-like manner, you told me over fries and mayo how you'd just gotten dumped. As a mark of extreme empathy, I offered you my coke. You grinned, and did a very innocent variant of the bottoms up. And like a true friend bought me another large coke.
If my days had colours, I'd call this one a bottle green. You're really wary about it, and it's seemingly uneventful. But sometimes, unlike yourself you pick up the bottle green sweatshirt at the back of the store, never wear it, but remove it once in a while, and are very glad you own it.
And when there's enough sleep or alcohol overpowering you, you admit that you don't mind the bottle green so much.