Conspiring senses rebel

The month of March began with an excitement to furnish the house which meant continuous trips to shopping malls, visits that I dislike. I have always detested shopping. However, the enthusiasm to fill the company provided accommodation with possessions that would give me momentary happiness filled my days for some time. Each object parked in my house provided me immense gratification whenever I stepped into my house. I couldn't resist admiring them. Any tiny speck of dust activated me to reach for the cleaning cloth. The smell of new furniture in the house affirmed my settlement in this new place. Sipping my green tea, enjoying the feel of new texture adorning my apartment, I appreciated the unknown craftsmen, who toiled hard to give my senses a pleasure.

My adrenalin rush had not even settled down, when my sensory organs having had their brim started producing uncomfortable sounds. The very eyes, which till yesterday were busy appreciating the beauty indoors, started watering. Nose choked with all the dust and sand blowing outside refused to perform its primary function. My mouth, gasping for breath was forced to open itself at all times. The sore throat sent shrill vibrations in the room tiring me completely. The parched tongue developed a metallic taste swallowing white pills and gulping queer syrups.

Exhausted with the internal aches, my body slumped one day onto the new grey and black sofa. The sedatives numbed me and my sensory organs failed to differentiate between day and night. I was sleeping both through the sunrise and sunset. Whenever I woke up, I found myself lying on the couch. I had become a part of the living room, in other words an extension of the new furniture and I abhorred the feeling. However much I patted myself in selecting each piece, I did not want to be identified as an object of beauty. My limp body convulsing in between, in fact was a blotch on the new upholstery. The grey couch would surely have preferred a healthy companion rather than me and box of wet tissues.

My mood irritable from days of sedation smelt like rotten eggs. But I could feel my senses conspiring to rebel all the resting. The same fingers which enjoyed the rough texture of the sofa material now were aching to do work. Eyes started longing for change of scenario and were pining for some natural hues. The diaphragm was craving for pleasing odours to fill up the thoracic region. Nonetheless, the body wasn't supporting and settled adding an extra layer on the settee. Senses still not armed enough decided to lie low for couple of days more. Now my moods emitted a stench unbearable to my own self. I had to muster courage to discard myself of old smells and firmly hold myself strong.

Gradually, my senses pushed me out of the couch one day, lest I get accustomed to this lassitude. Weakness does resurface some times during the day even now , but my senses fruitfully distanced me from the couch. Thatched conspiracy eventually worked to my relief.