Work

work

Why work? I don’t know why? For some people it is because it defines them, gives them a sense of purpose. I know without it,  we would have an enormous amount of time to spend with those we love:  what if we discover their flaws? .

Work enables us pay bills and become responsible adults (whatever that means). Does work matter ?  should the type of work you do matter?

why work though ? i know it maybe easier for me to con some pot-bellied businessman to take care of me for the rest of my life (lol, those who know me well will laugh while others may say, ” How can a feminist think this? ” ) I wont go into how a housewife can be a feminist: blablabla but it is a conversation for some other time.

If money weren’t a factor what would you do for a living? Most people I ask say writer, artist, musician, and producer etc.. They speak of the arts and for the non-dreamers say they just need work in a structured organization. All work is work. This has taken some time for me to understand. How is a doctor not more important than a gateman?

Imagine getting home and having to open the gate? (Not a nightmare right?) What if it was raining cat and dogs? (It would be nice to have someone open the gate right?).

Lets not neglect the house helps, oh my favourite the handyman who provide a service that most husbands and boyfriends no longer need to do to prove they are the man of the house (I have a handyman that does all my electrical stuff and plumbing and he is always available, I like that he solves these little things for me, so when I date a man I am not worried if he knows how to change a light bulb).

That is why the twitter food debate makes me laugh; if only cooking and cleaning made women suitable wives, i know for a fact that I wont have any single friends. There is always something else which is more important than chores or food  but on social media we can go on and on about stuff . Maybe I will tweet later today (a man who can’t install a ceiling fan is that a man?) (Just for laughs, evil grin emoji).

Summary #Allworkmatters, even if it’s not a job you like.

Why do you work? That’s a deep question? A question I hope this post makes you ask yourself.

 

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Labels and why , oh HI !! …

I always was a sucker for labels. To be identified as good, smart, intelligent, sexy, and witty. The constant need to be the perfect woman and get everyone’s approval. Whew!! It was stressful; the journey of people pleasing is so exhausting. Do you know why? Nothing is ever enough, you are kind and people think your kindness is a scam to manipulate them. You are generous and they may think you are trying to buy their affection .You are happy, you may have a secret lover.

Screw label’s, I am a weirdo. Sometimes, I am overly loud and say and do inappropriate things. Other times, I am the patron saint of love. I am unusually kind, forgiving and amiable.

Who/what makes us care about labels? We are labelled from an early age, in playgroup, that’s the shy kid, that’s the vibrant kid. In high school, the labels are: popular kid, smart kids, loose kids, born again, etc. You are the bully or you are getting bullied. Or God forbid the untouchable cool kids. Those we all want to be but love to hate. They do the most on Instagram (i.e perfect posts by the beach #waves, #summer vibes) .

Please we all drink coffee and I know it’s the Holy Grail to you but a morning run, or any workout gives you the same feeling. You don’t see a lot of #greentea posts without the chill vibes; coffee drinkers will make you believe they are zombies before coffee (I know I will get backlash for this, you guys will be ok). Yes, we tea lovers need to start a movement.

I haven’t written in a while but I am back now. I thought I was hiding behind words and not living but that was the opposite. The keyboard is the truth; I am the most authentic when I write. It doesn’t matter what people label you as; but it’s important to know whom you are and own it. That’s how you become whole.

What’s your label? Embrace, it. Except you are: a F**CK Boy, a Stalker, a con artist etc. . You need to find another label.

For the rest of us weirdos, see you tomorrow. Oh, I’m going to do a why series? Who knows why?

 

 

Hey ….

Hey,

Are you ok ? I surf the Internet and see happy faces. I see tales of lives lived and I wonder how my life would have been if I had never met you. You were the guy that the books, movies and friends warned me about.

You sat beside me and you stared into my brown eyes, your sight unwavering. You were distracted by nothing; I alone existed in your mind. I was the center of the universe and you listened. You listened like an apt student. Were you trying to write a thesis? Or was it for the movies? Why were you so attentive?

Did I fall for a con man? A regular playa? You deserve an Oscar if it was a performance baby. I fell for your charm and I lay in your arms.

You kissed me, you taste like sandwich dark chocolate wafers. Your tongue melts into mine, its absurd how it felt so natural. My engine resonates to the sound of your engine. I feel unexplainable happiness when I am within a 5-mile radius of you. On my most angry days, I have hated you yet I longed for your deranged comfort. This must be toxic it can’t be love? How can I love someone who flakes at the day-to-day things? When last did we go to the mall to shop for groceries? How can I love a man who doesn’t like phone calls? Long walks and sad love songs?

It’s cruel to ignite this kind of love in a woman and ask her to be civilized baby. This is animalistic, it is basic and I can’t hide it. .

You know I wasn’t meant to love you right? I have been hurt a couple of times. So why did I feel the need to validate our connection. Why put labels on fun things? Why couldn’t I be her? The carefree, bubbly happy version of me? Why did I have the need to show you my poetry? Or tell you about my scars?

Why didn’t I hide when your eyes undressed my soul? Why did I let you read my poetry? Why did I share my darkness with you? Why did I not dilute me? Why did I think you were the man for the job? Why did I let you meet her? The lady miss pinky strings, she danced to all the tunes you played like she and your guy Johnny bee had played in the same band in a previous life. It felt so right I was sure it wasn’t wrong.

You are not my first rodeo; somehow it hurts that you may not be my last. I watch you from a distance sometimes and I wonder? Have you been fed? Do they make you laugh? Does her lips taste like waffles?

Does anyone tiptoe to kiss you goodbye? Are you happy?

Do you call her daily? Do you hold hands and kiss her like you kissed me? (I am smiling is that even possible)? I am kidding (stop shaking your head, I am not conceited, lol).

I miss the life I imagined for us in my head. I imagined us raising an army of the crazies (beautiful, intelligent and artsy kids). One of each. I imagined road trips and vacations in Italy. I imagined runways and walkways in Egypt. I imagined New Year’s Eve in New York.

Now , I imagine breakfast with scrambled eggs, I imagine him doing crossword puzzles; I imagine a life full of surprises because I learned I can’t plan it all. I haven’t met him yet , but I know he would love my awkward dance and my funny sense of style. Best of all he would love to have babies with me, and never give up on us. I swear to do right by him, if I could love you so fiercely, imagine what I could do with him?

I have held on and warmed the bench in your life for so long. I almost forgot how to play the game. Be happy, my friend may love never leave you alone and may you never need a hand to hold.

Arrivederci

suzy Adams

Suzy stood tall over 6ft and 3inches as she towered over me , I couldn’t help but stare into her big brown eyes .They look sad as always . I smiled and alighted from the car and gave her a big hug. We were all having a crappy week but I am going to keep my thoughts to myself for once and listen to her ( that’s friendship) . She just learned that Jide was married and their 7months perfect romance was over because last night his wife came back to town to surprise her hubby and rained down insults on the both of them ( I knew jide was married but I didn’t tell her because I had no proof other than my gut feeling and his annoying smile whenever  I meet him). A lying scum bag .

she kept raining insults on him and my mind began to drift , I spent Tuesday with Patrick , A Lawyer (semi refined man) but at my age I have to compromise a little . He dotes over me but I cant see a relationship growing from our numerous lunch dates. I don’t feel the passion and he said something about spending a weekend together . I am definitely not going any where private with that man ( I giggle and suzy looks at me ).

I know its not funny her predicament but as my good friend lola says “when its too good to be true, it isn’t true ” . Jide met suzy at the infamous Turquoise car wash . its where all the crème de la crème go to wash their cars . she drives a range rover sport and likes everyone to know it. it took four years and hustling to get her the range .

Jide was all over her immediately ,  they had dinner at  dunes and breakfast at vanilla, he shopped for her all over the place they were an item in a couple of weeks. everyone envied them except his friends and hers( me).

They made love for the first time in Dubai at the famous Burj Al Arab, she sent me a selfie  of herself in the Jacuzzi. I warned her that things seemed to be growing too fast , she called me a pessimist.

she snapped her fingers at me and said ” you haven’t heard a word I said ” . “of course , I did” I replied and started telling her about my latest catch mr  Brown Daniels . I told her it would take her mind off him

Brown Daniels is a chef , he owns a little restaurant I often go to eat lunch, he wears glasses but every time we have eye contact I shy away . recently , he asked for my number so randomly that I was unsure if it was romantic or business.

he invited me for dinner and after the soufflé ,  I let him have me three times on the restaurant floor. Suzy started to laugh and called me the S** word but who cares ? that’s how to have a man and a meal without complications.