I AM RAMBLING AGAIN.

If I killed myself on Tuesday I would have been buried today 

I wouldn’t have been holding this piece of chicken in one hand and my steering on the other, dancing to Arya star’s new song. 

Food has become a luxury, I can’t afford to feed myself everyday without calculations and hungry nights.

My cornrows are rough, itchy and dirty and I am ashamed of it. 

Everything is luxury, Especially love, I can’t afford it.

I learnt proper scripting and I love the idea of data, can’t stop thinking about it. I kept laughing when I saw it on the App.

Sometimes I forget to say thank you and then days passes by and the embarrassment widens and I just keep waiting for the right time to explain my foolishness, till it comes and I start to hate myself.

 

The other day, I took tap water and bread and forced my eyes to sleep. I prayed that I wouldn’t wake up again, but I didn't want my last memory of life to be of suffering.

My nails will have orgasms when they finally visit the nail tech. I miss the routine and the anger and the anticipation of how it will turn out. i miss waiting for the long que to get it done. 

Last weekend I wanted to wear something skimpy that screams “ you shouldn’t be wearing this” to the club with my friends. I want to be the first person to say let’s go home. I want that lousy drive back home talking about how classless other ladies are, how the first club was better than the 5th,who we didn't expect to still see there and laugh about  all the men that came to get our numbers, but this are old hobbies and I doubt if I will still have the zest for it. 

I miss my friends, everyone is far and old and struggling. I miss the friends i no longer talk to, i want to reach out, but I no longer want to ruin it. its best it remains that way

I notice I forget a lot, I forget little things like closing the tap, turning the water heater On, buying water, leaving my cream open, to wear perfumes, and sometimes to whine down the windows. 

I am not in the best mood these days, Tinubu is my president. That means subsidies don't exist, not on petroleum, not on food, not even in my life. 

I shouted when the woman told me noodles are now N200, I had only N300 Naira with me and hopes of having something for dinner.

I miss the days I used to buy my provision for N5,000. I am wondering how my father takes the financial shift, seeing that he speaks about buying the same provision for N25 kobo also. 

I get angry easily too, why are you calling me so early, why are you driving this way, why does your breath stink? Why are the reports not coming?, why is my gateman smiling in my direction, what is funny about misogyny.

I am changing, someone at the book club emphasizes on the need for change and how it is constant and not resistible, and how we should embrace it.

I am growing also, my stomach is twice its size, I check my BP and the music is always too loud. I don’t want to sit and discuss boys and their functions anymore, I want to hear about struggles, I want to laugh and forget myself, hold their shirt while at it, gasping for air. 

I am now an engineer, I know the exact liters used to take me to the office, I know how to manage, and micro manage, and just survive without anything. 

Long paragraphs no longer gives me anxiety. I am immune to some of these things nowadays, I can see manipulation from miles away, at the end of the day aren't we all manipulators. 

I am compartmentalizing and I am doing it well, I postpone sadness sometimes

I am grateful for old friends, they never leave, I ghost and reappear and ghost again and they are used to it. I don't know how to be like them. 

God is real, I know this because my nieces and nephew are growing to be whole human beings, they have a face and I love being around them. 

I talk to my mother every time, it always goes ‘Mama see what happened today '' I chuckle by imagining her responses, I am asking if she sees Whitney Houston often and if they are friends, and wondering what is it like being dead. Does she also miss me? is she tired of the daily mistakes I make

I love to talk about things in pieces these days. I tell you how my day went, how I am frustrated but I am willing to try another day, dry jokes and regret talking about it again.

I am a slave to the algorithm. I hate thinking about it, and going back a million times to find out if more people are viewing, checking the sound, and the content and wondering why its not having responses

I overthink, wondering how this will be perceived and accepted? What will my grandkids think of this? What will people think? Oversharing? Absolute nonsense? Brilliant or lets let her get away with it. 

I believe in process, sometimes I secretly look at celebrities throwback pictures, it inspires that they were also hungry like me

My Neighbors Generator wants to tear my ear, we talk once in a while and I know she never relates to my struggle.

I was shocked when I heard someone order coffee at pie express, are we loosing our culture? this would have been gist worthy to my mother. I imagine her say “ let people do people things” after we have laughed over it.

Valentine is only a social construct cause I didn't get any flowers, never gotten one, wondering if I will ever get them, probably when I am 60, from my grand children.

 A book club member said he is wondering how brave we are to trust another human being to the extent of calling them “ours” I immediately started thinking of you? And myself and whoever called me “theirs”, what made me theirs? And why am i not theirs again?

I admire abundance, imaging having 50 set of totes and 10 full libraries in my house? And enough money to never work again

I forget to keep malice, I forget a lot and I am ashamed of it. 

These are my ramblings.