Dreams of botox

At 3:40 in the morning when I woke up with a shiver, I knew that this would not be a good day. For I had dreamt that I had had botox injections in my eyes and while the rest of my face was wrinkled and sagged like witches in fury, my eyes were smooth and straight as the sort of marble they used once to build the Taj Mahal. I could have done many things then - analysed the meaning of this nightmare, pondered on the vagaries of time, read a sad book to make me sadder or perhaps, autosuggest my way to happiness, which I am sure exists somewhere in this good earth. But I was sleepy and so I went back to sleep and overslept and missed my 7:51am Borivali local to Churchgate and with fright in my mind, fear clutching my heart, waited for the 7:57 slow sure as sure that I wouldn't get a place to sit. I jumped in, wrestled my way afore and pushing aside a stock broker, captured the third seat, the last on offer, in the first class compartment and erected my flag there.
There I sat, leafing through a copy of the Mumbai Mirror, till I came across an article on mental health. Being interested in this department, I quickly dog-leafed it, flipped through the rest of the ramble and returned to mull over the piece. It spoke of anxiety disorder and I quickly put a tick against, it spoke of depression and I quickly put a tick against it, it spoke of schizophrenia and I put a question mark against it and then it spoke of bipolar depression and I put two exclamation marks there. There the list ended and thus satisfied, with many unexplained mysteries solved, I spent the rest of my time desperately trying to get a glimpse of the sunlight through the elbows of fellow strugglers in that inferno.