They look at me with mocking eyes - all our worldly
possessions. “When is she going to get
her act together?” they say.
It’s been a
month since the guests started sitting amidst flotsam and jetsam. A month since the house has been floating
around in a sea filled with monsters that rear their ugly heads every morning;
a sea that unleashes storms that shriek and rage; that changes its moods as
often as a pregnant woman.
I never imagined that my domain would put up such a fight when we wanted out. How and when did the stuff and the house get
involved? Since when have they become so inseparable? And now, here they are
fighting tooth and nail against the divorce that I intend to execute.
