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.