It's late. It's such a lovely winter's night. Somewhere in the distance I see a lit window. I'd like to imagine someone in there reading a book, perhaps writing, or smoking that rare cigarette and possibly contemplating the light from my window.
It feels nice to share solitude.

Finals ended three days ago. We were sitting about in the college cafe, giggling with nervous energy and swapping those 'my viva worst' stories when we said hello to a professor who proceeded to give us friendly advice. She said something about these next three weeks being the last carefree days of our lives.

"Boy, you thought this was tough? Wait till you become an intern, then you have to balance work with studies. Then you have to put yourself through the nightmarish hell of post graduation. Then you get a job where you have to balance patient care, office politics and tax returns. Then you get married and you have kids and then your life is officially over."

Of course, she put it less dramatically, but that was really the gist of it.

I came back home and decided to forget that warning by pigging out on food. Not a good idea, because I woke up the next day with a really bad case of viral gastroenteritis.

Oh I had such great plans for these holidays ... for Life. Trekking across the Lower Himalayas, scuba diving in the Andamans or just swimming lazy laps in some warm pool in a beach resort, catching up on reading and writing and traveling. But they've all disappeared at the slightest hint of myalgia.

And the cortisol that had kept me from just about burning out with exhaustion, seems to have abandoned me in my moment of triumph, and has left me with this desolate sense of anti-climax.

Am I already in the middle of the end?

Oh I don't mean to sound so morbid. Not on a night as achingly beautiful as this one. Not when it can still hold promise of adventure, of a Life But Ordinary.