One year ago, I wrote this post. I remember because of this awesome tool I use called missinglett_r. This amazing website lets me schedule blog posts for an entire year. I just sit back and relax, waiting to discover what it has posted on my Twitter after someone comments or retweets. So if you’re a blogger, you know what to do. It is mostly free. You’re welcome. 😉
Anyway, we were talking about singlehood. As usual. Maybe I should stop talking about it, right? In the meantime, as we chew on that thought, let’s see what has changed since one year ago. Am I still gaining weight? Nope. I have made a conscious decision to stop myself from doing so. It is not quite healthy, gaining weight ovyoovyo, to be honest. Regardless of all those all-up-in-your-biz mamas who keep asking why you are not eating during family get-togethers. Don’t listen to those mamas. They want you look like them, which is not healthy at all. Maybe they could avoid it themselves and it’s culturally acceptable to gain weight as a symbol of “having arrived”. If you can avoid blowing up without making a huge effort, then avoid it. Not even for the look but for the health of it all. Your future babies need you in one piece. Exercise. Eat natural things. Give natural yoghurt a shot. That thing sucks but it’s for the greater good. Tell yourself that, it will keep you going.
It’s been a minute since you thought about this topic.
Everywhere you turn, that topic is bound to crop up. Think back to this Sunday. The first thing that happens when you walk into the church compound is a friend telling you that he dreamt of attending your wedding. Somebody say amen? He insisted on it, even after bumping into him again after the service, even though the last time you talked was ages ago. This is not the only dream that someone has told you about btw.
If you are like me, that is. Our friend B just joined the Android world (he finally admitted that Windows phones suck) and asked me to recommend apps. So I remembered that I have never actually written about the apps that make me sleep better at night. So here goes:
You take the painkillers and they simply don’t work. Not in the least. You get that headache again on a Friday night and you just get mad at the world. You don’t finish your supper and just shut everyone out and go to bed. To struggle to sleep. You decide to not move out of the house the next day. To stay put. To iron all the clothes that have piled up over the month and just chill out. Your hair’s a mess. The growth is just annoying. Maybe that’s why your head is aching. That growth is always painful anyways.
Imagine that you are walking in town one Saturday afternoon. Either alone or with a friend in tow. Let’s assume the second option – you are strolling in town with a friend, W. You talk about the weather and how it’s been behaving. How the week was at work and at home. You talk about everything that you can possibly talk with your friend. Then, suddenly, in the middle of that you start feeling ill. At that moment you realize that there is something terribly wrong with your body and you cannot really figure it out. You assume and keep on talking. Suddenly your friend realizes there’s something terribly wrong, but they too are clueless. Things happen so fast that you start losing your sensory abilities – you cannot feel the spoon that’s in your hand and you fail to coordinate the digits on your hand but nothing. Before you know it, a sharp migraine fills your entire head causing you to slump on the table, weak and helpless.
I’m in bed. I have tried to sleep. I have really tried. It’s 00:54. I am tired. My legs feel worn out. I was trying to ice-skate. My cousin’s idea. I got into bed at 9 sth. Took on Taken 3. Liked it. Cried a little. Embarked on using a bit of my night bundle then decided to sleep. Wapi?
The cock is croaking now. No, we don’t call it croaking. Somehow I thought they go together. It’s crowing. I might be going crazy. Or maybe it’s all the thinking I should be processing that I’ve decided to forget about that is haunting me. I honestly don’t know what’s up. M-Pesa is apparently undergoing maintenance, so I can’t top up and text. I can’t watch something else. What am I? A couch potato? No. So I’ll do the only thing remaining. I’ll tell us all a story. It goes like this:
You have that one browser you love to bits. Mine happens to be Google Chrome. I have tried working with Mozilla Firefox and I did not last long. And the only reason I tried it is because I thought Chrome was weighing my laptop down. At first, I thought it was the number of extensions I had on it, so I disabled all of them. However, I could not carry out my work as social media manager efficiently, so I had to bring my must-have extensions back.
These are my favourite browser extensions which you will probably love too, if you don’t already, especially if you are also in my line of work i.e. you manage blogs and social media accounts for most of your days.
You know how a man seems interested in you and makes conversation then he cannot keep it up when you are already getting interested too? I hate that. I really do. I don’t get why someone would get my interest running then jump off the vehicle and leave it running down the hill. It sucks. It’s unfair. If you know you are going to do that to me, you’d rather just watch me from a distance. Watch me waiting for the next driver. Don’t just jump in because I look like I am desperate enough to let any driver on.
Remember Lucy, that naïve girl who was always so unlucky in love? I’m talking Lucy of the WhatsApp mishap. Lucy of the wingman drama. Well, here is the sequel…
Lucy had had enough at this juncture. She quit WhatsApp and threw it in the pit of oblivion. She stopped acting out of desperation. After all, she was young and free, right? No more Drew, no more George or Sam.
So you think weaves are bad? So you sat there typing up yet another article to ruffle feathers for traffic? You sat there while your ‘beautiful head’ was covered in yet another type of braid which is as synthetic as a weave but you claim to be a natural hair crusader? You know what, you are fake. Fake gets you traffic, I know. Fake gets you to put up a show and set tongues wagging.
In fact, I have been meaning to write about weaves for the longest time now. I don’t wear weaves for personal reasons. I tried one last year and regretted it.
If you have met me, you know I am small. Very small, or rather, small for my age. I did not even know I was small until around high school. For one, my younger brother just shot up overnight. Today, he looks like the first born in the family. Secondly I bumped into my frenemy one afternoon in the green city in the sun. He probably thought I was tall and all because my status updates on Facebook back then probably gave a sense of height. Lofty and high. Ahem. Anyway, he could not shut up about how small I was after that. Since then, 2009, to date, he has never shut up about it. He digs up blog articles on short girls on sites like Thought Catalog or funny pics and drops them on my Facebook wall. And since he has some strange influence among our Facebook circle of friends, he roped other friends in in re-emphasizing my height.
I laugh out loud at the jokes. Initially, back when I was too serious for life, I’d hate the taunting. But we grow up. Even if it is not obvious on the outside. Lol. I love being short. I love it so much, I will tell you why.
I did this on the bus. Amidst distracting texts and Google Docs lying to me that I can do this offline. It’s been a week and a half, that last week of June. You know something is up when I don’t blog. All the same, such times are enough to come up with a million posts.
Anyway, one lesson from last week. Fast Fade. You know Slow Fade, right? Casting Crowns nini nini. Ever listened to the actual words to the song? I have.
She was minding her own business. The last thing on her mind that Friday was a man. In fact, she just wanted to get to her bedsitter and lock herself in and just wallow in the bliss of aloneness. No one would get in the way of her plans. In fact, she had just bought herself the entire season three of Once Upon a Time, just to binge-watch. The producers of that show must be a couple of geniuses to have thought of bringing fairy tales into a palatable format for grownup girls who were still waiting for Prince Charming. That is all she needed. To watch that palpable chemistry between Hook and Emma and wish she was in Emma’s place. She still had that bad boy syndrome going on. But she kept it under wraps for her own good; and any bad boy out there.
You have 40 minutes to write this composition. Go! Cue in the heart palpitating like the tom-tom drums of West Africa. You have to make sure you create a situation where that simile will apply in your composition, right? If you remember those times, you are Kenyan. Congratulations. If you remember that simile, you are definitely a millennial, Generation Y species. Pat yourself on the back. You wrote about being lost in a forest. You wrote about being kidnapped. You wrote about a fire at your neighbour’s. You wrote about the day you would never forget. And that day was always about some cheesy event where you either won something or toured some special place. This is where you went all out, whether in truth or in fiction. There was no Instagram or Facebook to show people. You could only do it in paper and only your teacher could see it.
You know that bout of unwanted thoughts that invade you from out of the blue? That annoying urge to go far away from everything and just be alone. I have a lot of those. Especially on Monday mornings. I have nothing against Mondays. Actually, I kinda look forward to them. Mondays always breathe a new sense of being into me. Because you never know what will happen that week. You don’t know what weird man will honk at you as you take your routine 15 minute walk up that suburban Westlands road. You have no idea who you will bump into in the bus or on the street. Your employer may come up with a whole new way of doing things. You might even end up writing a post you had no idea you could in here. Your computer could decide this is the week it freezes a gazillion times between 9 and 5. The possibilities are limitless.
Today, I am feeling bad because I am still single. Yes. It happens. All the time. I always wonder how long this will go on. What my chances are of meeting someone while behind the keyboard for 3/4 of my days. The other 1/4 I am asleep of course. The thing about this feeling of desperation today is that it is different. It is different because I am no longer in campus. I am about a year old out here since leaving the great Moi University. That institution was quite something. If you frequent this space (or rather, the old blog) you know how I could go on and on and on about that institution.