The curse of a blinking cursor is what your favorite has been going through. I realised that sometimes we put unwarranted pressure on ourselves. This imaginary dry spell is a delusion created by my maniac mind. Creativity is the imagination’s production of artistic work. It has never been a problem for me. Not to blow my own horn, but I am a natural. The reason I never conformed to a niche is because I do not want to restrict my imagination. So here I can write anything, fiction, opinion pieces,satires,poems etc. My little labyrinth of ingenious creativity.
So where am I going with this? A girl can write a post without being pressured to blow your minds. What? This kind of tension has me feeling like a mediocre writer/blogger. I am here watching my dog chase his tail. My cuppa tea is cold, I made it about an hour ago. See I can write about the simple ripples of life without trying to be funny. Although I have marvelled at my dog’s ability of licking his balls. Not so many of you can do that. Dogs 1, humanity 0. Moving on, I had a rather unpleasant visit from a friend and she brought along a virus breeding parasite. Her 4 year old daughter. She had a nasty cold, runny nose and sticky hands.
Martha, why did you bring your virus incubating daughter here? You know I have a toddler in the house, what are you doing?See little Marla did not care about sneezing openly into the air, wiping her nose with her bare hands and touching Malik’s toys afterwards. Martha didn’t seem to mind. I sat there clutching my son to my bosom, terrified to breathe the same air with these two. She touched everything in the house, the damn kid would not sit still. I eventually asked my helper to take Malik out for a walk in his pram. This zombitis virus carrying child was a danger to my son. Dear mothers out there, if your child is sick and contagious. Please quarantine your little ones and stay home until they recover! While Malik’s toys are soaked in disinfectant and I am wiping every surface in an OCD demeanor. My son is safe.
I hate to say this but today is not about intricate plots and beautifully written posts. Its a day this thirty year old woman is sprawled on the couch, half naked and typing away. Mashing up different strings of thought into this blog post. Laughing nervously as the illusion of time becomes reality. A few weeks before I am screaming for death to take me while the body self dislocates to pave a way for my unborn daughter. I have been watching birth videos and I must say, I AM NOT READY. Lord, give me the strength of the Hebrew woman so I can have a fast almost painless birth experience. I am haunted by flash backs of a tearing vagina, a 3.8kg baby and sitting in cold saline water. Spare me these terrible afflictions. Although I cant wait to hold Princess Zuva in my arms, I am dreading the awful labour and birth ordeal. Mothers are truly heroines. We are so underrated.
I am thinking of live tweeting during labour. It depends on the strength of my pain threshold. Temporary insanity could make the whole process easier I should think. I don’t know, waiting it out and praying for the best. The highlight of the week is a toddler party that Malik was invited to. My 2year old son has a popping social life than me. Second thoughts, I have Game of Thrones season finale to look forward to! The Jon & Danny fire sex scene, Viserion walker spitting ice or blue flames, the dragon pit agnate, Brienne and Tormund fighting side by side the ultimate facade of foreplay, Bran and the Night King. Can not wait.
I never ask though. How are you doing? How is the new job? Are you okay? How is the wife, hubby, and kids? Hey, how is freshman year? Are you aligned to your dreams? How is your pregnancy? Is baby daddy paying child support? He better be! How is the final year of college? Hang in there, its almost graduation time! How is the job hunting? While we are it, let us pray for Sierra Leone during this hard time of devastation. Do tell me what’s going on in your lives. Less about me, more about you for a change. I do care. Easy on the alcohol guy at the back, okay? Okay.