Issues

Image Source Two weeks ago on a whim, I decided I would book a short trip away from the ‘Deen, to London. The plan was simple — fly out on Friday night after work, catch up with a few friends, particularly S, and then head back on Sunday night, with no one the wiser at work. At such short notice, British Airways to Heathrow was a non-starter, as was Flybe to London City. This left EasyJet to Luton or Gatwick as the only viable options. In the end, I settled for Luton, the weekend of the 10th of June being the best fit with friends and family. On the day, having packed my go to travel bag and done work, I hopped on to the 727 from the bus station next to work, arriving just past 6.00pm for what was meant to be a 7.35pm flight. ...

From my notes at the end of March (which kind of triggered this) In Work: Greater clarity around my role going forward, and dare I say a staff role somewhere that allows me focus (almost) exclusively on developing my technical Materials and Corrosion skills. In Women: Resolution of my G ‘problem’ - we’ve stalled, we both know it but we’re letting the weight of third party expectations drive our actions. In Worldview: God and I need to have a proper conversation and make up. This cognitive dissonance is driving me nuts. In Weight: 8kg over my YE2014 numbers. MUST do better! In (Net) Worth: Stalled, no increases since YE 2013 inspite of net increase in earnings. Must rein in 2015 spend and take it from there. Hopefully SisiOnABudget comes up with the magic bullet for this soon!

Rebirth says men are never 100% single, and offers further clarification in a comment: In my opinion, being single means free from any baggage, no causal dating or stringing along, emotionally available and willing to commit if its the right person…but i find most guys have more than 2 women they are talking to at a time And I have been thinking. If I met someone (new) today, would I be emotionally available to commit, if it was the right person? Most probably not. Every time a picture of EJ flashes or her name comes up in a conversation, I realize I still haven’t forgotten, still haven’t let go. Am I ’talking’ to any other woman? No. There are the long term friends elC, TheB and ER who ostensibly might be options - but we’ve been stuck so much in the friends zone, I doubt anything can progress from that. ...

On the 4th ring, someone answers the phone. The voice is distant, seemingly attenuated by all the miles of cabling and ether between me and the recipient. There is a certain sleepy quality to the voice too, as though I have woken them up from the depths of an afternoon nap. Its late afternoon in that part of the world, that time of day when the oppressive heat and the lack of activity on a Sunday afternoon combine to lull one into a dreamy haze. ...

Things about some women I still don’t understand….. How they manage to go from hag to wag in twenty short minutes on bus 23: Each day I get on the bus, I am treated to a minor miracle. The ladies - and they are the same ‘offenders’ in the main - unfailingly whip out their boxes and mirrors and get to work. Within the space of a short bus ride, the transformation is complete. Several brushes, colours and peeks in the mirror later, they are virtually unrecognizable. Just why that couldn’t be achieved at home before hopping on the bus beats me hollow though. Why odd coloured shoes make it into the aso-ebi list: Last April, I was hounded well nigh to death by purple shoes. Thing was a good friend of mine had to keep up appearances attend some function - the specifics of which escape me. The clothes were done and dusted - only problem was that purple shoes were required. It just so happened that purple shoes were out of stock in all the shops she knew to check, and yours truly was called upon to devise a solution. Needless to say I failed woefully - not through lack of effort as I even went the distance of setting up a conference call just for them shoes - but due to the sheer absurdity of the choice of colour. My theory is that the first women who had aso-ebi’s had major shares in a shoe manufacturer and chose odd colours so that the shoes could not be re-used thereby guaranteeing increased revenues! Why some people think lime-green eyeliner works on their ebony-black face: Whilst quickly looking through lounging on amebobook the other day, I stumbled on a picture of some random chic with lime-green eyeliner. You know how a friend of a friend comments on a picture and amebobook somehow manages to put them onto your news feed in all their gory glory - that was it. Granted it was in the spirit of the Nigerian Independence celebrations, and people had to pretend to be patriotic by wearing green-ish stuff, but surely there were mirrors at home… and in the rare event of there not being mirrors, friends and family could have alerted said chic to the incongruity of the eye-liner? How they manage to still feign surprise over stuff they knew would happen anyways: The ladies at MO Corp have banded themselves into some sort of fraternity. Ladies-only lunches, baby club discussions (at my desk no less), and the ‘official’ baby shower for the pregged ladies on their last day of work. Its all well and good to have baby showers - great pizza, us blokes get to leave a wee bit early on a Friday and all, but I never can quite get over the false sense of surprise them ladies seem to muster. I mean, its standard practice that you’ll get a baby shower. Expect it, and spare us the excessive oohs ahhhs, and the drama! arghhh… Why you wear ‘six’ inch heels to church and then take them off midway through the service: I am an ‘apostle’ of functionality which is why them ladies who wear six inch heels and then take them off midway leave me worried. Surely, the shoes can’t be so uncomfortable that they can’t stay on for two and a half hours only? Why you manage to tear up ever so freely in church: Every time I get the misfortune of being sat next to a particular young lady in church, I groan inwardly. Problem is not that she’s got a massive dose of BO, but that she manages to contort her face in so many twists and turns that I’m left wondering if I am safe. 90% of the time, she’ll cry during the worship - often times that is the precise moment I am discreetly reviewing my twitter timeline, an indicator of just how bored with the whole experience I am. It really is just the worship right?I have a sneaky feeling, that it might be more than just the worship, perhaps she is remembering what Bro Okon did the night before… Sigh… ...

Thankfully this week is over, finally. Its been a maelstrom of activity - two client work sites, hand overs, reviews and piles of stuff to catch up with. The worst bits had to be the getting set up bits - setting up remote access to my company email and network, new log on IDs and network access at the new place and all - plus there’s a first review in five weeks of stuff I was never involved in. ...

I hate that you are always on my mind. I tell myself I really don’t mind that we do not talk any more. The brutal truth is that I mind! And worse, that it hurts - like a deeply seated wound that no salve can reach. Only a few months ago, it seemed the world was at our feet and that the sun would shine forever. A part of me wants to believe that you still care, that you still remember - I’m not sure it matters either way. We are done. ...

She popped up on my IM window today – the first time in months that she has. In an oddly unsettling way, it seems odd that she appeared. Odd becuase a mere few months ago, we were seemingly inseparable. I was caught in two minds - to buzz her or not… Truth is there was never any closure. All we had was a slow drifting apart as we each sought to focus more on our own things…. In theory, we are still normal – still friends, still confidants - the only difference from the days of a somewhat burgeoning friendship being the fact that life has happened, and squeezed the ‘thing’ I thought could grow into a dry lifeless crust. ...

Dear Lawwd! Matters came to a head today over SpiriChic. Thing is Mother and I have spent the past few months locked in a mental war – losing it is inconceivable for me, because it would constitue such a loss of face that I couldn’t possibly put my foot down on any thing with her in future. SpiriChic, one of two young ladies I ever seriously dated, is a certain un-official ex from a few years ago now, whose existence was leaked by a parroting sibling in a moment of crass indiscretion. Said ex and Mother got to meet and hit if off instantly, which should have raised red flags in my mind at the time. My assumption has always been though, that as long as I hadn’t told the parents anything, whatever mother assumes is just that, an assumption. ...

I had an eccentric- if morbid- pastime whilst growing up; fantasizing about dying; and that for as long as I can remember. This was not a simple hit-by-a-car death, but a major drawn out event complete with ambulances, flashing lights, weeping family, and heart broken friends. The object of those fantasies was to convince myself I was that important to all of them; and assuage my battered ego after being blasted to bits by my mum. I would imagine Mother crying; eyes puffed up, hair flying in the wind, scarf wrapped around her waist, totally inconsolable, attempting to throw herself into the ditch, mourning her great loss - ME. Often I would have Di in the background, bawling like a chicken deprived of her entire brood in a sweeping attack by hawks - only a slightly more dignified version of mum. ...