Incoherently Speaking

Old post that I finally finished.

Woohoo! I have finally changed my blog address! in honour of this change, I figured I should commemorate this momentous event by finishing a post I have been working on since forever. Figured it's about time I attempted to summarise me:

Hi, I'm Incoherent Leigh. I'm a tomboy. Or so they say. I haven't worn a skirt since I left high school. My legs miss the Sun. All the women in my life try so hard. They buy me make up, jewellery, drag me to the salon. I am that girl who blithely leaves her house with her hair 3-days uncombed and flip flops on her feet. Once, I changed into my white tee, shorts, and (bathroom) slippers in the toilet at the reception venue of the wedding I had just attended. I was heading home, I didn't need to be dressed up to do that right? My morning regime takes me 20 minutes. Fifteen on the days I don't stop to moisturise. I love braids because they're just so low maintenance. you just get up, get dressed, and go. I never do weaves. What's the point of carrying hair you can't corn row and forget about?! I do like to dye my hair though. I am forever experimenting with colours. My hair suffers but oh well.

I'm a geek. Or so I've heard. I love video games. I hate sports but I love first person shooting, racing, fighter and adventure games. I'm team PlayStation. In fact, a proper Sony Stan. I love all genres of music other than country and blue grass. I love movies that make me laugh or think, or contain gratuitous acts of violence. I abhor chick flicks and romcoms. They're insulting. I read the romantic genre for a bit between the age of 4 and 6. Then I grew up. Moved on to Forsythe, Higgins, Ludlum. 

I love to read. Feel free to recommend books. It's been a while. I still watch cartoons. Love me some Sesame Street, Fraggle Rock, and Legos. And utterly shameless about this love too. My greatest love is cake and all things decadent. Cake is awesome. So are Baby Ruth, Butterfinger, Snickers, Twizzlers.....gawd! Top it off with ice cream and you have found my nirvana. I love food. Food is awesome. We were put on this earth to eat good food. I refuse to deny myself my earthly purpose!

I love science. Science is so bae.

Found this. Can’t remember what else I wanted to say. I guess I also used to believe in the greater good. Fighting for the underdog. Doing right by everyone. But I don’t care anymore. Something has finally broken and I do not believe it can ever be fixed. I don’t know. Anyway, this is me:

Books
Movies
Cake
Candy
Science

I can literally be summed up by five things

Body Autonomy

The first time I went to a therapist, they put me on suicide watch. At the time, I laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. How preposterous to think I would want to end it all. My depression got worse, and I finally got my wish (at the time) and got to move on. It felt like things were getting better...ish. Then things happened and one night, I was ready. I planned in my head how I would get sleeping pills the next day. I knew I was done and ready to go. The next morning, in the brightness of the day, I guess with that cliche hope of sunrise or whatever, I jettisoned the idea.

Then it happened again. But again, I talked myself out of it. There was always a reason. They would blame my mom and I would no longer be there to stand up for her. It would be messy and difficult to clean. I didn’t really want to go...

I had a near death experience. Nosy Parkers reached out because they had somehow convinced themselves it was an attempt. This, despite pharmacology categorically telling them it was absolutely not. But I mean, that’s what antidepressants mean, huh? You are taking them so you can... end things. Fucking morons.

Then two years ago, it all became too much. I stuck through because I did not want to ruin my sister’s wedding. Every time I wanted to, I thought of her and what a damper it would put on the celebration. Not to mention all the lost deposits. Gotta hang on. Until one day, I lost my phone. That was it. Horrible things had happened. My heart was in tatters. I had no idea where my life was headed. But I was willing to stick it through the wedding; until I lost my phone. That night, I took all the pills I had. I wrote emails. I typed up a post.

Didn’t send any.

Woke up the next day. Groggy. Disappointed.

That was my turning point. Since then, there was no reason to live. There was no logic to not ending it. The very next day, in my groggy state, a close friend told me that she (too) was ready to go. I told her that I had tried just the night before and failed. We talked about the disappointment of recovering from a failed attempt; the  disappointment of living to see another day. We talked about options. We also talked about going away together so she could get out of her slump. Just a few days later, I get a call that she was dead.

After the tears and the guilt (did I push her? I had not done enough to talk her off the ledge. Should I have told her family? Did I push her?)  had petered out, came the envy. She figured it out. She went through with it. In all honesty, she had always been that way. Every single one of the dreams she had, she made come true. Her legacy was, and still is, quite a lot of something.

So who was I, to cling to life? What was there to cling to? What is there to cling to?

This desire to go is not a constant. It is an ebb and flow. But every time it returns, it comes back stronger. No argument for life makes sense. I’m old. I’ve fucked up so much there is really nothing I have to look forward to. Nothing redeeming. I am a fuck up at work. I am a fuck in my family. I am a fuck up. I’ve been rejected and unwanted whether platonically or romantically. Only one person would care that I was gone and he’s gay. There’s also that. This unreasonable and frankly idiotic desire to be wanted and loved. The unnecessary need to be all open with someone and be loved back; in both body and soul. To be touched, and fucked, and loved.

Dumb, stupid, desperate shit.

Him, I do feel bad about. The one person who I know for whom I have a purpose. Everyone else will be fine. They may (or may not, I do not fool myself about my relevance)  be bummed for a little bit, but life will go on. I am not that much. And that’s okay.

I am really sorry, L. I love you but I can’t stay. It’s too much and there is no end in sight. There never will be. The same things cannot be happening over and over and it always be everyone’s fault but my own.

And it isn’t just that. It’s not the rejection(s) from employers nor the one from the asshole who feeds his ego with my adoration. I am just done. There is no point to anything.

Now, it is about the planning. I had not really thought a note was necessary. I still don’t. All that mushy dramatic bullshit about being tired or done or whatever. Or being sorry. I’m not sorry. I do not care. I know people will deal. As it is when a person dies, their significance is exaggerated for a brief time, then it will all go back to normal. However, I owe people. And I would really like them paid. It would be awkward to think of money when a person is gone but bills do need to get paid. The amounts are written down. The closest thing anyone will get to a suicide note (other than this).

It’s a lot. If there’s a funeral plan, dispense with that bullshit and use the money to pay these people. Donate my organs and burn the rest. Pour my ashes wherever it suits you and get on with life.
It’s funny, hey. My response to the usual arguments about suicide is that you’re dead. Whatever people are feeling will not matter. Still holds true. But somehow, I would really rather not be in debt. Please pay these people.

I obviously have not worked out the how yet. I pray a lot of nights for an aneurysm or even a stray bullet through the window to end me. I hope I get on a wrong bus and get kidnapped and sacrificed. I stare longingly at traffic and worry that I will inadvertently survive stepping in front of a truck. I have tried to contract corona. I am no longer squeamish about glaringly unhygienic food preparation. My hope for a death I do not actively cause is high. Because, lazy.

I am working harder at designing a proper suicide. I was thinking of starvation, but I would live for 3 months. That’s too long. Although, I could use the time to finish all the books and series I have accumulated over time. But that may lull me into a false sense of positivity. There’s nothing positive.

In this world of “body autonomy” and “consent”, it’s amusing how people balk at allowing others the choice of how they die. We have neither choice nor part in any other thing. Not our birth, not who we love, or loves us back. The continuous expectation is to “accept what life gives you” and “make the most of it”. You must “take the L”. When absolutely nothing is working, you must “look to the future” and “stay positive”. For what exactly? If not to just continue to fuck with you, there really is no reason why society does not let you choose how you want to end things. Understandably, assisted suicide is a bad idea. Murders and abuse can be safely committed under that. But somehow, euthanasia - essentially someone else making a decision about the trajectory of your life is still more acceptable than you taking control yourself. Ain’t that a bitch?

Why do I write this despite my dissing the (*cue thundering voice complete with melodramatic background sound*) suicide note? No one cares why I did it. No one longs for closure or a finality with me. I have no delusions of who I am and what significance I (do not) have. It’s fine.

Anyway, this is for others like me. It is not fair that suicide - ie the taking full control of ONE aspect of your life is not allowed. Can we please choose how and when and where and what way we die? Can you all just allow us one fucking thing? (Oooh! Look at me speaking for someone. Super woke)

Goodbye

I deserve better. It is honestly that simple. You are not sick, you are not dying. You have just chosen not to speak to me. 

You could have just let me go, you know. I was good. I was not angry, I did not hate you. I was just finally done, as you have been for months, probably years.. But obviously, you had to be the one in control. The one to end things as cruelly as you could be allowed to. You likely really did have a bet with your buddy. Congratulations.

Anyway, 

One Thousand Words

This time, we are going for one thousand words. I will then try one thousand five hundred words next. Those last two sentences were just a hack. A cop out, if you will. Because I am basically cheating on getting one thousand words out there. Like how I am deliberately spelling out the number instead of the usual 1000. All to get my numbers up. Sad.

An ambitious magazine project is looking for people to write book reviews. They want the reviews extended, and in depth, and up to one to two thousand words (did it again). This is I trying to see what that looks like. And just how much would need to be said to make up that number.

So far, my paragraphs have been short. Is this what my paragraphs would look like were I to talk about a book I have just read? In addition, do I really have the energy and attention span to talk extensively about it? Do I have deep thoughts about books I read? Must I have deep thoughts about them? Can I not just read a book for the sheer pleasure of it? Enjoy said book, and move on to enjoy the next one? Who reads reviews anyway? I mean, blurbs are okay. Short and to the point, they do help to provide a glimpse into the book one is about to read. Of course, this is all subject to the taste of the reader, and then writer of the opinion. So, one does not have to agree with it nor take it into account unless the person has proven right in the past. Highly subjective and what not.

Extended discussions of a book, on the other hand, those are just bleh. First, there is all that writing. I mean, this is my fourth paragraph, and I have only just hit three hundred words. I really have to type seven hundred more? Ugh! So yeah, there is that long-winded conundrum. And it just feels like so much work. To delve so deep within yourself and then articulate so in-depth every feeling you had while reading the book. I feel like it would be asking so much. It would be a lot like a diary entry. Again, it takes so much fun out of the entire reading experience. One would have to constantly pause to take notes of your thoughts and feelings about particular passages. That way, you can accurately record it all as it happens. You would probably have to remember lines, and then look up references and what not.

In this next paragraph, we discuss a problem I had not initially anticipated, but is essential to this writing project that I am hoping to embark on. I abandoned this…essay, if you will, for a few days. So now, we have the issue of trying to recall my train of thought. With any writing – provided, of course, that you actually have an idea of what you are doing (which I likely may not) - you need to have a plan of where your writing will take you. Of course, you may change course along the way, but a rough draft is supposed to be a staple. But I do suck at this, and therefore I am now stuck. I have no recollection of where it was I was going with this. The thought had occurred to me when I stopped writing then, but I had (quite erroneously) assumed that reading through and editing what I already had down would serve to jog my memory or at least provide renewed inspiration. Alas, no dice. Up to six hundred words now. Just under four hundred left to go.

Ah! I remember where I was going two paragraphs ago. Rereading really does work! Anyway, let me get to it before I forget again.

These long-winded, in depth essays, which delve deep into the books, cannot get to that length without retelling the story. At least, that is what I think. I have never read any of the critiques, let alone written one. Maybe these analyses would work with nonfiction or reference books. Especially since with those, you can never have too much information or insight into the subject matter. However, should this be done to a novel, that is just one plus pages of spoilers. I enjoyed a few years of English Literature in high school so I remember the books on the books. Book reports were expected every term and they all required proving you really read the book from cover to cover. All this translates to is that a book review more than… honestly - two hundred words long is a travesty. Whom on earth wants to know what will happen in a book they want to read? Moreover, let us not forget the bias a review introduces. If you should choose to go ahead and read a book you already know all about, you will be going in with a biased mind. A book is best read with a pure mind. That way all the feelings and opinions are wholly yours. You are not blinded by bias to scenes or intended themes. All interpretations are fully your own.

This is all personal opinion. All of this is just my approach to books. I go in with a clear mind and let the writing lead me. I am guessing other people prefer to be led. They need an opinion basis upon which to build their own. Many do not see spoilers as ruining it for them. I guess these extensive book reviews are for them. Then of course, there are those – of which I am a part, who do not mind reading another’s analysis of the book AFTER they have read it. To have someone properly articulate the feelings they have about the book and/or supply alternative interpretations of the book. That is the only read I would personally read a long review.

Anyway, I have achieved one thousand words. *mic drop*

Two Hundred Words

In my bid to determine what two hundred words look like, I am writing this. Despite having repeatedly set my theme to Times New Roman and font point size 12, this stupid computer keeps reverting to Calibri font point size 11. It is so ugly and annoying and it aggravates me dreadfully.

A two hundred essay must have at least three paragraphs, no? So I am doing a second paragraph. Here, I will fuss about the upcoming deadline for applying for a job I am working myself up to want. It is a remote job, with a promise of a good salary. I am unlikely to get it because there are so many people much better, more qualified who will also be applying. But, I am working to learn to take rejections in my stride. So I must do this. It is for my good.

I still have fifty five words to go. Wow. I guess I should talk a bit more about rejection. About sexual rejection? How it feels to have a deep physical urge that is not reciprocated? Unfortunately, we do not have the words for it. I only have ten more words to go. And now, I am there.

The 1930's

I woke up this morning ready to die...

I have been trying to write this post for years now. Trying to figure out the perfect, most eloquent way to discuss this. There is so much I want to discuss. Break things down. Pick up every little item and examine it from all angles. 

And today, I am just done. I lost my phone. That's it. I have pulled through more than this, but I can no longer deal. I do not want to.

I thought about death, and none of my usual reasons for staying make any sense. And my usual anchor, my phone, it's gone. I really hope this works. I hope I fall asleep and be finally done.

I am so sorry I did this before your wedding, but I cannot do this anymore. Please be happy. And forgive me. Eventually. Take your time. Just do it for you, cuz I sure don't need it.

I promised you I would stay. And fight, But I can't. I really can't.

I started typing this for you. Cuz I never stop thinking about you. I almost sent you an email, but I didn''t want to deal with the aftermath of spilling my guts in case these pills don't work.

Wouldn't it be fucked up if I survive and I lose my hearing or some shit? Cuz I feel like I'm going deaf in my left ear already.

ugh

More of the Random

I hate reading my posts. Just a bunch of cringe after cringe. HOW ARE THERE SO MANY TYPOS???

But it's cool. I ticked a bunch of stuff off my list this. I feel so foodfeed (if you know, you know).

I also think about you a lot. It is super annoying. Please, why are you in my head? Can we just not do this? I have so much going on and I do not need nor want whatever it is that my mind is trying to do. I need all my wits about me.

I really am in a good place right now. I am terrified that something will happen and wrench it all away from me. The last couple of years have been so stressful. Soooooo stressful. Everything was falling apart. I am shocked that I survived at all. Had to gather myself off the floor so often.

And now, right now. I am happy. I am doing something I love. In a space with people I truly like and respect. I can comfortably do things I could not before. I am terrified of having it taken away from me. Terrified.

But enough about me.

Random

everyone has one of those. a post that is utterly cluelessly random. just type whatever pops into your head. so here's mine.

i'm nervous. assed out nervous. i'm currently packing up my bags. trying to decide what books and movies to take along and i'm headed.....well you'll soon find out. and i am terrified. i've been assured i will be fine. and that i have nothing to worry about....yeah right. so i have a few days to go. barely. i havent even started packing. and i'm still waiting on stuff. sigh. i hate packing. so many damn decisions. and i cant believe how much i actually own. bloody hell. then theres the deciding who to tell and who to just let figure out that you're no longer "here" anymore. then the notifying this and that.

I started this post in 2010. It is 8 years later. Funny how a lot has not really changed. I still have a room full of my stuff that I need to sort through. I have moved a lot. I would really like to stay this space I am currently in. I like my house. My job is also nice. I look forward to what I will do with it. The books I didn't take with me only just arrived a few months ago. Not all of them came. I may have to just accept that I will have to buy those books again, sigh. None of my quirky posters or magnets or little trinkets made it back either. When other people decide what is important to you, this is bound to happen.

In that time, I have discovered a lot about myself, but not really. I have depths and incredible shallowness I didn't believe possible. I have had to stop saying "I would never". Because life keeps showing me that I would. I have weaned people from my life. But not enough. I need to trust people less. Need to stop believing that people are good. I need cynicism in my life. Or I need to move the cynicism I have to other facets of my life. I don't know.

Anyway, this post is done.

Bye

Losing My Religion

This last one was never published. We could not agree on the content and length. It was supposed to be a series. I was going to wax lyrical about religion and its pervasive effects on my society. But yeah, I am lazy. Writing is not that fun, guys. Deal.

There are just some Friday nights that arrive and you are filled with fear. It is not Friday the thirteenth. It is not Halloween. And yet, decent people weep quietly as they wait, with trepidation, for the Sun to go down. It does not start immediately. Oh no, you have a few hours of sweet, normal darkness. And then as the clock hand draws closer to 11/12 (the witching hour, as some call it), they come. The high pitched whine as instruments are being tuned. The painful screech of a microphone passing too close to something. Finally, some tone deaf sub-human beings to warble. Yes ladies and gentlemen, it is that time again – Friday. Night. Vigil (dun dun duuunnnnnnn).

Religion was brought to Africa many years ago by the “colonial masters” long before most of us were born. The people heard the Word and embraced it; lived their lives by the tenets set before them. Even now, post-independence, looooong after the colonial masters have since moved those beliefs, concepts, notions hold sway in the society we have managed to build for ourselves. This was meant to be a onetime article. In the coming weeks I plan to talk your ears off. You don’t really have to listen. But I really need to rant so like it or not……

I can only speak for my own country though. But I feel I can speak for it well. Come with me on my journey. Help me to understand, come to terms with the madness religion has unleashed on my land. Or maybe it is not madness and I am the one who needs to learn. Only time (and Umuntokanje) can tell…..see you soon!

I Am A Slut

Ok. I lied. That was not the post that actually got published. Our editor wanted a little more back story. She also changed the title. The back story she ended p getting out of me was inserted just before the last paragraph. Years later, I still hate it.

Trying to explain how I got this way is hard. I started out a good Catholic girl. Who grew up in a society where sex was the norm. Girls getting pregnant was slightly more commonplace than girls graduating high school. My high school -the best in that region, and also an all girls, did what they could to keep us focused. Sex was a no- no, but we were taught all the precautionary methods. "Everything but" was acceptable. Honestly, no one cared what you were doing so long as you did not get pregnant or catch AIDS and have to drop out of school and fuck up your future. Then I moved to an uber conservative society. The culture shock, the drastic change in the definition of slut, was a lot for a young girl to take. I stayed a virgin, refusing to party or date, just so I had something to throw back at the idiots who had drawn conclusions about who I was by my attitude and (lack of?) boundaries. (Those years can be blamed for my current aversion to being touched.) It did not help that when I finally decided to give it up, it was to a manipulative abuser. My second partner was basically my sex therapist. Demystifying sex with him is still the best sex I have (currently) ever had while also teaching me to love and own all of me. Moving back to my liberal society also helped. A lot! Returning to old beliefs helped reconcile so much. I had to learn (and still working on it) to mesh all I had picked up both consciously and unconsciously over the years.

PS: I have since had much better sex than le ex...

Slut

This was the second one. There was a lot of back and forth with this one:

I am a slut. I have it in me to be ratchet beyond all boundaries. I am also a prude. I think sex is sacred, not something that should be bandied around. I love sex. Love it. It hurts me when I do not break you off. Hurts me when I do not leave you completely sated and yet wanting more. I am also ashamed. Ashamed of the number of sexual partners I have had. Utterly embarrassed by it actually. How did they become so many?

My humble origins were just the one guy. Him, who I was going to marry. Then it turned to two. Because I did not want to continue to be haunted by the memory of the one who had used me so cruelly. Now, I no longer hunt for excuses. I just do it. But the guilt is still there. Eating away at me. I hate myself for doing it. Wonder how I can live with myself after yet another misdeed. But it does not stop me. I am still going. Little by little though, with every new partner, that guilt is waning. Each day, I find I care less and less about how people or society or whoever sees me. I am just here to get my (and his) rocks off.

But then, I have to ask: what is my limit? In my bid to not listen to society, to not "play by the 'rules'", I find that I no longer have boundaries. I did start out with some. I would never do this. This is a no go area. Oh hell no, not me! Not that! But more and more, I have been blurring lines I never thought I would cross. To be honest, I have straight up crossed them. And just like with the sex, with the new partners, it gets that much easier each time. It is not even about social norms, or morality, or expectations. In my bid to drown out the accusing voices, I have gone far overboard with the things I have done/i do. Or have I? For many, I am fine. I have done nothing wrong. I am "owning" my vagina. Unfortunately, I disagree with them as much as I disagree with those who think I should keep pretending I am not sexually active (or presently horny as I am now).

So, this is where I am now. I am no longer a virgin. I have no interest in "reclaiming" said virginity. But I do not much like the direction in which I am headed. Oh, I plan to keep fucking. Sex is way too awesome to give up. (Sorry God). But I need to define my boundaries again. Redraw my lines and never ever cross them. I am a slut no doubt. But as always, it will be on MY terms not anyone else's. Some days, I will be a prudish slut, others a slutty prude. But every day I will be (true to) me.

Slut.

Claire

A few years ago, a friend got a bunch of us girls together and had us send entries into this blog she had started. That blog has long since become defunct. I manage to contribute two entries. This was the first one:

Let me tell you about Claire. Claire is five years old. Claire has just started at a new school. Her little sister who she fondly refers to as "her baby" is starting school too. Claire is ready to have fun, and play with all the new friends she will make at this beautiful new school. She is so excited. Claire has Down's syndrome.

If you have never encountered it before, you would just pass her off as odd. A bit slow, unrefined...nothing that being in a good learning environment could not fix in no time. However, as time went on, it was quite apparent that we were out of our depth. The head administrator had a meeting with the mother. She admitted her daughter had a problem and agreed to get a professional opinion. We needed the guidance so the most could be done for Claire. Weeks passed. No feedback from the mom. Despite the head teacher's request for after school one on one (no charge), Claire and her "baby" are the first to be picked up. The mother was approached again. She insisted that her daughter was just restless. Blamed the old school. Mumbled about the doctor's recommendation. Left the office as quickly as she could.

Not all children are born "perfect". This is your child. Her "baby" knows there is something wrong with her big sister and takes advantage of it. Her classmates know she is different. Children are not kind. Down's syndrome is not the end. With proper help, especially at this early stage will guarantee Claire a good life. There are so many well-functioning Down syndrome adults out. It is not to be swept under the rug or prayed away. Do not just pretend it is not there. Help your child.

Writing this, I was so angry. I wrote a scathing letter all ready to put the mother out in the open. Then I heard an opinion; heard a couple of opinions. Yes, Claire has Down's syndrome. Yes, her parents are in complete denial. But, Claire is first and foremost, a child. Claire is a CHILD. And she deserves so much. From me. I have not been doing my part. I saw a problem, decided it was beyond me and I shoved it into the laps of the parents. What was I doing for Claire? Had I exhausted all possibilities? I was so ashamed.

The next day, I hugged Claire. I sat with her and patiently explained in terms she could comprehend what it was I wanted from her. I catch myself when she lumbers around (insensitive, but that kid is uncoordinated, man!). She has felt the difference though, Claire has. She is responding. Impressing me. I have started collecting articles. Reading up on approach ideas.

Claire has Down's syndrome. But she is five years old and in a new school.

Confusion

What makes a relationship? How do you decide that you like someone? How do you know you're dating? How do you behave when you're in a relationship with someone?

I think I have been alone for so long I have no idea how any of it works. I don't remember what constitutes a relationship. What do a boyfriend and a girlfriend do? Only thing I am familiar with these days is the sex. I have emotions, but I am not sure what those are supposed to signify. 

Of course, me being me, I haven't brought this up. Haven't expressed myself, laid my cards out and say exactly how I feel. I need to; just so it's out there and I'm free. But what would I say? I have tried to analyse, be certain of what it is I'm feeling. I do not know what I want, other than this basic primal need.

It won't go away. I have tried. My usual abstaining period is two weeks. My need wears me down by then. A sweeping declaration helped me do two and a half months once, but my need told me pride was stupid. I always indulge my cravings.

Here I am, here I stand. Thoughts fighting to be expressed. But no words yet to describe how I feel, what I want. That's it really, it is not the fear of the impending rejection. I have made peace with that. We do not want the same thing. But somehow, I don't know what it is I feel, or what exactly I want to do with it. 

Should I remain in limbo and let come what may come? If I elect to take a stance, where do I want my feet planted? How would I like it all to play out? I want to just let go and walk away; allow the inevitable divide to begin. Let the forgetting, the slow fade into vague memories happen. But I resist.

I am not ready for it to end. 

Evolution

This past weekend, I sat and read through all my blog posts. I marvelled at my simplicity, my self absorption, my intense desire for attention, my angst, and good lord, the typos - the u's, the small caps, the poorly developed thought process. No wonder I stopped blogging!

Tonight, I logged on planning to fix it all. Delete the silliness, and rewrite the surviving posts. I hit edit, then I realised, this is me. This is who I was 7 years ago. This is how I thought. These are the things I deemed important or relevant. This was how I was able to express myself. Any edit at this point would be the same as how the older generation try to minimise and erase the younger. Rewrites would be me denying the existence of my young, sad self. It would be silencing who I was, and what it was that other me felt mattered to her. 

I'm glad I've changed. I understand things alot better now. I am slightly less self absorbed and I have moved on from certain things. I will continue to cringe at that girl who was. But it shows how and where who I am now came about. In another 7 years, I will cringe at what now me is saying.

TL;DR: I'm not editing my old posts. Everyone must deal with my immature, angsty, emo ass. 😝

Letting Go

Being honest with yourself and coming to terms with situations is so difficult. Especially when it comes to the mess that is my love (for lack of a better word) life. It was pointed out that I like unavailable men. I argue. Insist that no it isn't that way. That...so difficult to put into words. 

I have a problem with emotions. I am practically incapable of expressing them. I am uncomfortable around expressions of them. I have convinced myself that this is why my life is the way it is. I like someone for an insurmountable time. Tell myself and anyone who cares that it's my fault things aren't happening. I point out this, and that. See! He totally too does like me! But he's just afraid. Of me. Of my lack of feelings. 

LOL

A while ago, I clicked. It's what I like to call it when I actually meet someone I am physically attracted to. Likely, he realised my attraction and capitalised on it. Either way, the unprecedented happened. Then he disappeared. It hurt. Hurt in a disturbingly intense way. He reappeared. I let him. It was pointed out that I was doing it again. I made a feeble attempt to listen. But surely, I argued with the moon, surely all that intensity has MEANING. 

At some point, you have to decide whether you want to continue to be ok with the intermittent, inexplicably insanely good sex or do you want to no longer suffer the exhaustion of not being able to voice your thoughts, your protests. Having questions you will never get answers to. 

Letting go shouldn't be some epiphany moment. Doesn't have to come as a climax to some dramatic occurrence. Sometimes, you just realise mid-dismissal of a friend's words that you need to stop and admit that your theory, anout these things and your method are just pure shit. 

Yes, conventional is not for everyone, but you are so not one of those cool ones. Sorry 

Emily

These days, I seem to blog only when I'm emo. I miss the times when I used to be funny (shut up! I was too funny!). 

This time around, I'm sitting here watching a show. The star and his love interest have had sex. Now he's looking at her with love and she's looking demurely back. I usually find this sort of thing nauseating. I do not comprehend the need for mushy crap. Can't we just shoot and blow things up? Must there be a kissie face scene? I mean ugh!!!

So yeah, I'm here. Watching them be in love. And I'm wondering how the writers will break them up and keep them pining for each other. Then I think about other shows and what device they used to achieve that end. Then I think of their sex scenes; and their love. And I start thinking about when I will get such a love. Will I? I think I want to be in love. Hug, cuddle, do the whole doe eyes or whatever. Just be safe and happy that someone loves me. 

Ok. I just flashed on a past sex scene. Which leads me to think I'm just bloody horny. Cuz really, hugs? Cuddles? That's basically foreplay man. Sooooo yeah, emo moment over. 

Oh I just thought of a show that has no love interest. All blood, guts and explosions: Supernatural! 

Never mind. Forgot about that homoerotic bromance they have going on. 

Calloway

I hate being broke. I really really hate it. Not having money is the worst thing in the world. It sucks hot monkey ass balls. 

It's not like I want millions. I could honestly never even have millions anyway. I am terrible at saving. I spend anything I have. More on that later. 

So I want money; lots and lots of it. Because I like being comfortable. I like not having to plan everything to the last detail. I like being able to see things I like and just paying for them. There are dozens of countries I am still yet to visit. I need money for plane tickets, hotel bills, and car rental. Plus I need to be able to buy shit while I'm there and all the cool museums have an entry charge. And of course I need to eat!!

Back in my regular home, I want to own my own home. Build something to my taste and furnish it how I like. I'm too old to be waiting to plan with husband so I need to get on that quickly. I need a new car. My car has been in the shop for going on a year now. Took me that long to be able to replace my stolen laptop. I still don't own a PS3 and the 4 is on the market. 

Seeing as I am neither pretty nor smart enough to find me a wealthy man, I need to find me a better job. This current one pays shit. I could take the crap that goes with it but for what I'm getting paid, yeah I'm resigning. 

Oh yeah I said I'd revisit my inability to save. Yeah I don't save. If I have money, I spend it. What I do is own as many assets as I can. Rather than millions, I'd probably just have lots of houses all over the place. I don't see the point in owning more than one car or buying tons of clothes. Gadgets are not that costly. And I don't believe in spending stupid money on luxury items. My one vice is cake and ice cream. Oh and give people money. I'm a sucker for a sob story. But I'm working on that. 

Anywho rant over. I need a very well paying job. Gotta go work on that.

Bye

Happy International Women's Day

Hello ladies! As we again celebrate our day this year, I just wanted to remind you of a few things. This actually started as a celebratory Facebook status but me being me, I couldn't stop it spiraling down into a bitter, angry (lesbian?) tirade. So I thought hey, haven't blogged in a while so....

Happy International Women's Day to all the women! You are still incomplete if a man hasn't given you his surname. You are still useless if you're not producing more humans. You are utterly without worth if you can't cook or clean. You are a total slut for doing what YOU want with YOUR body and just stop asking for equal pay would ya? You can work and get maternity leave. You getting pregnant already costs your company enough money. Oh, and it is totally your fault the world is the way it is because you insist on working, and having a say, and being treated as a human so yeah divorce and corruption and "moral decay" is all YOUR fault! If only you'd stayed home and thrown out all your shoes.....

And black women, black African women? Hi. Aren't you the lucky ones? First you have the white women to whitewash (oh sweet sweet puns I love you so) your causes for you. Then you have the non-African blacks pitying you cuz you know, you have no clothes and haven't eaten in days. Do you even know when it's Christmas? Then you have your own black, African women who wish you would just shut up for a little while. You make men uncomfortable. There is nothing wrong with how life has been. Stop being so angry all the time. You know if you acted just that more girlie you'd totally get laid right? Or are you a lesbian? I know most of you feminist types are. It is not our culture o!

Anyway, happy international women's day. Keep up the good fight. At least until you finally meet a nice boy to tame you and marry you. Once you start having children you will forget all these things. Especially seeing as you will have so many Mother's Days all to yourself! See how nice the world is?

Honestly, women are so ungrateful. 

Epiphany

During this past weekend, I have learned several things:

1. I am never going to get married. 

And I'm ok with it. The type of man I want is either already taken or .....well already taken. The type of changes that seem demanded of me to "find the one" are beyond what I am willing to give up. I like being a tomboy. I am comfortable in tees and blue jeans. I don't want to show off my legs; I hate skirts. Makeup is for the rare occasion. And no, I do not think being constantly on braids is a bad thing. Weaves are more trouble than they're worth.

Then there's the intelligence thing. I do not want to dumb down. I do not understand why I keep getting asked to. I do not want to "cater for my man". Is he a fucking child? I cannot cook, clean, support, and still look up to you plus pretend that I can't do all the stuff you do around the house better that you. I want an equal. A true equal. An equal in every sense of the word. I want to be respected, included in decisions, I want a partner not a head. I want to travel and have fun. The same way I'm supposed to give my man time with his friends I expect it too. You have a man cave. I want my personal space. I make the bed, you cook and wash the damn dishes. You set up the tv, I fix the washing machine. I pump, you feed the baby. But yeah, never gonna happen. Now that I know this, I need to plan for it. Because I refuse to be the typical old maid. No cats for me. Still thinking about how it's all gonna work. Get back to you on that...

2. My boyfriend days are far behind me

Even in my heydays, I was never a boyfriend person. Honestly, I just wanted to be left alone. The few people I dated just hounded me relentlessly til I gave in. No one does that anymore. Boys seem to wait on you these days. And I absolutely suck at showing or detecting emotion. So yeah. No boyfriends. Which of course ties in with the never getting married. How will I be proposed to if I can't even get someone to want to date me. Sigh 

3. I will never have sex again. 

This is the worst part. The absolute worst. No sex again. No making out. No marvelous foreplay. Not for lack of penis; those are a dime a dozen. Sadly however, I like my penis to come attached to a brain. Therein lies the problem. Plus, I prefer my penises to not be owned by other vaginas. Which narrows the pool even more. There aren't that many unattached intelligent blokes out there. I've been cheated on a lot so cheating on even a girlfriend is not for me. Karma sucks. And I would rather not have to deal with the crippling guilt after. So here I am. Spinster for life. No boyfriend. And celibate by proxy. 

So I'm not sure where I was going with this. But this looks good so far. Let's stew over this and I'll be back later.  

So I went off Twitter

On the 1st of February, I went off twitter. I just looked at the date and said hey, great time to finally do what I've only been saying I'd do. (*thumbs nose at all those people who pooh-pooh fresh starts slated for the beginning of something.....more on that later).

I am only into my 7th day and I realise just how much twitter is integrated into my life. I ironed for the first time in years and I wanted to tweet about it. I finally got my full blazing internet back AND I bought razors so my underarm is shaven and smooth again. Neither could I rave about. Somewhere, in a backward town in Anambra, girls are being attacked for wearing trousers. I am not raving about that. Things happen and I want to privately vent or be nasty or be catty. I can't. I am forced to think it. Pretend I'm sending a tweet in my head, hit send and just move on.

Another thing I've seen is no one has noticed I'm gone. I am actually sitting waiting hoping to see when and who will first notice that I have gone silent. I need reminding that I am dispensable. And that the world doesn't really care. I have been becoming a little too full of myself lately. The impending reality check will do me some good.

And good Lord, I completely forgot: so many comebacks I have had to swallow. The pain of not being able to tweet a response is so real. Especially when you've found yourself a real zinger. Oh well.

I'm hoping this will help me blog more. As you can see, I am so used to twitter, writing full paragraphs filled with interesting sentences are now beyond my ability. Let's hope for more. 

I finished out the month. Went back on twitter. No one noticed my absence nor my return. Not even me. I just went back to tweeting my errant nonsense. I am proud of the way I refrained from using Facebook as an outlet though. Go me.