Is it me or does time hold a grudge? I think it’s come to collect its dues for all the years wasted postponing things — tomorrow is another day after all. Tebu! Listen, I’m awake by 5 in the am. Paying patronage to Africanism, 5 means 8 because catching worms is so birdy, so old school. I’m like a newborn baby, I sleep late. The difference is that I wake up waaaay late. Now don’t go snitching on me to my employers — working from home should have such perks. Perhaps I’m making up for all the early mornings I was forced to head to school, finding myself at the bus stop by five-thirty sharp lest the disciplinarian eagerly salivates whilst handing me an ass whipping. I for one love ass but not that much! Excuse my thoughts.
Normally, my day flies by mechanically doing the jobs I’ve been routined to, serving the purpose of my employer’s needs. A quick peruse on social meant to be an escape from reality feels like a chore. There’s always a friend getting married here, another having a baby there, and another promotion beckoning elsewhere. It’s hard to chin up when your phone (your closest ally) screams pressure and anxiety right on your face. I’d rather you send me to `kill me quicki bar` and throw away the keys. I’ve grown up too fast yawa!!
Nowadays, turning ‘thate’ without `kupanda mbengu` feels criminal. Every day, for people in this age bracket, it’s only public embarrassment preventing our necks from cringing right and left avoiding the societal police. K.O.T is no joke blokes, the memes going around of 1990s’ babies are hard punches to us victims. Most times, during family gatherings and class reunions, I kneel and pray that the facade of underachievement goes under the radar. Because I’m down to my last lie of how things are in order. Msee, my world is crumbling, rent needs payment, mum needs her grandchildren, a blog needs to be written, you have to read it. Aiiii!! These are tales of a dead man walking, shying away from conversations about marriage, raising a family, pursuing masters blah blah blah … I’d rather soak myself on my sofa cuddling my blanket as I binge a season of The Blacklist. At least there, no one’s asking me to come with a plus one to any event. As if my blankie won’t count.
I feel `nyaaa..` Like a fish finding itself in the middle of Sahara. A broken compass that only knows North because it’s always forward `duh!! My high-school geography has served its purpose at last. Anyway, these feelings will not fade away any time sooner. It’s like they’ve clung onto me squashing me with every gathering. I don’t feel like I can withstand any other friend buzzing me with excitement about their deal coming through or their promotion. I might just stab them through the phone and turn myself in prison `puuuh`!
Msee, send me to the universe where this life begins at thirty crap exists. Don’t forget to include Bezos fortunes along. You never know where it’ll come in handy. Maybe the residents there, have heftier bills on the air needed to breathe. Clearly here, the wiggle room for this is non-existent.
