Bitter-Sweet Love (continued…)

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#np 213 – Brown Skin

(…) The kind of women that parade their sexuality with shameless abandon. The sort whose laughter can turn men’s inflated egos into shriveled portions of self-esteem. Those that are rarely approached by men, but make the moves themselves. The type that don’t giggle at any man’s jokes, they tell the jokes, as the men giggle away. Let it also be known that these women, Gee’s women, as well bred and clear eyed as the next woman is, share no amount of love-blinded sentimentality with the rest of their sisters. Yet it would seem that the few, whom my humble and shriveled-up portions of masculinity have been graced to meet, have a strange sense of affection for this cool-headed bloke, Gee.

Am I jealous of him? Hell yes. Do I wish my own level-headed personality could tame the wild ways of such women? Definitely. Yet as fate would have it, Gee seems to be the only chap, I know, with big enough ‘plums’ to sail the frosty waters of these ‘wild ones’. It would seem that the empyrean courts saw us, normal men, not worthy of the steel needed to maintain a decent level of courage in the face of raw and unvarnished femininity.

Nonetheless, there are no loud-mouthed wild ones to keep Gee warm tonight, and me to cower from. No cold corners for Gee to head off to as he hunts for prey, nor football matches for me to lose myself in. Just two young and virile men, in a two windowed room, in the company of a solitary, glass-topped, coffee table sitting between them. With cold beers in hand, we share few and far-fetched spasms of wisdom. Moments of unbridled reason and intellect rush to our mouths in eloquently formed words, only to be washed away by the barley flavoured water we drown ourselves in.

I think about the millions I would love to bank someday, even though today’s reality has me earning trifles. Gee, on the other hand, whiles his time away scrolling through his phone-book and making random calls, to loud-mouthed women with gold teeth caps I suppose. My bets are that the booze has started kicking in and he feels oh-so-randy. The kind of randiness that gives your plums a darker shade of red as you search for a late-night conquest. Fed up of his worry-free take on life, I bury myself in the memories of my past week. Memories so fresh they float effortlessly in my mind. Makes me think about how Pi and Richard Parker drifted ever so slowly over the endless sea.

Working for eighteen hours straight each day, in a law firm located in Nairobi’s Hurlingham, I must say it has been one heck of a week. I spent my days with my nose stuck inside tons of files and folders. Sifting through heap after heap of legal write-ups,  appending stamps and signatures where needed. Quite the eye-opener I must say, especially for a guy from an IT field. It paid well though, real well, and it was some real important job too – so somebody had to do it. Even so, a maroon carpet, old and worn, was the only source of comfort any of us at the office could afford.

On this carpet, I experienced sweet sleep, an hour at the most, before I headed home for another four hour bout of sleep. I had dreams of the same millions I think of now, few nightmares too, of one of Gee’s women tearing me apart. And as you squirm at how lifeless my sleep must have been, I have to note that I was quite the lucky one – landing on the carpet, that is. Files stacked over each other, to form beds, were the only other option for those not bold enough to fight for the coveted spots underneath the few tables available. The toilet seat too, if memory serves me right, was also an open consideration. Yes, the toilet seat. I remember seeing one timidly-built, and somewhat quiet, miss spend the night there someday.

Back to tonight…As I look at Gee talking into the phone, passing on sweet words laced with deceit, it comes to mind that perhaps I should learn something from him. Maybe I should take a sip from his stress-free beer-mug of life, and focus less on the worries and sorrows of the world. The most noble thing I can do tonight is be less envious of Gee’s manicured personality and rich background, because the more I keep up with this self-pity, the less I will focus on the main price of self-motivated effort.

Gee finally looks away from his phone, and directly at me. Apparently, the scumbag wasn’t just going through his phone-book mindlessly. He passes on some words of advice (which he might have just ‘Googled’). Anyway, he tells me this: “Even though life isn’t always beer and skittles for us, you can still find the answers to some of life’s problems at the bottom of a beer bottle.” Very deceitful words, don’t you say? Wisely put deceitful words. But I believe him, because those are the kind of words that I really need to hear right now. And seeing as our table is still furnished with a couple of mercenaries from the land of Dublin, they should hold just the card to magically swish my disheartening thoughts away.

So, this is where I turn off guys. I have four or five more battles left between me and sobriety, even though the kick is already setting in. My focus is getting hazy, I can’t stop swallowing my words, and numbness is quickly rushing to swathe me in its warmth. Yet here I drink on…yet here I prepare to valiantly face my five remaining adversaries. One 6.5 mm bullet in each of the guns they hold, that makes 32.5 mm worth of wrought iron left to go.

In the famous words of Arthur Guinness, aka Arthur ‘Gee’ – “I’ll take each roasted  chance as it comes.” Goodnight world.

#np Tupac – Life Goes On

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