My country people… Good evening.
Hope you guys are good.
It’s been a slow week so far for me, nothing at all like my usual Mondays and Tuesdays. Last week was a nightmare and I didn’t get to rest over the weekend. Rain beat the crap out of me on Saturday and I got soaked to my bones. Now, I feel like shit, like I’m coming down with something so I’m trying to take things easy. I’ve been feeding on painkillers and coffee and bread since then.
In fact, to be honest, I’m not really doing anything… I went to our training school Monday morning to address some new recruits. This is the fourth Monday in a row that I’m having to do that. I just wear a tight skirt suit and high heels, stand before a group of 30 to 40 people and talk to tell them about their new jobs. After talking, they clap, then they ask questions and I give them random answers that I pull out of my ass. It’s funny cos a number of them are the same age as me, but when I talk, they look at me like I have the cure to Cancer. They don’t know that I still watch SpongeBob Squarepants and wear non-matching underwear.
Anyway, that’s not what we’re discussing today… today, we’re going to talk about a recent conversation I had with a friend. He’s an ex actually, but we’re still very close friends. Before we go into that though, I’ll tell you about a theory another friend of mine has. This other friend believes that, if by the age of 35 you are still single, then you should know exactly why you are single. And any single person, 35 and above, who claims to not know why is delusional and being dishonest with himself/herself.
I think that theory makes plenty of sense. I’m not 35 yet but I used to think I had a pretty good idea of the reasons I am still single. I thought I had my good sides and bad sides clearly understood.
You know how it is, when someone asks you to describe yourself. Naturally, you start with all the good things first… “I’m caring”, “I’m God fearing”, “I’m nice to a fault”, “I spend my Saturdays in a Motherless babies home” bla bla bla
Then, because you don’t want to look like you think you’re perfect, you mention one or two bad things. But, even the bad things, you say them in a fun way so that they don’t seem too bad…
“I get a lil grumpy sometimes” is a nice way of saying “I am bipolar and I also suffer from multiple personality disorder and one of my personalities might stab you in your sleep”…
Or “I’m a scaredy cat who is always afraid to try out new things” could be a way of saying “I will never ever give you head even if your D was the last source of vitamin D in the world.”
You get what I’m saying right?
So we were having this talk and he, my friend, was telling me stuff he couldn”t really say before when we were together. It was a no holds barred, non-sugar coated, bitter truth firing session… I felt bad for days after that talk because I realized that if what he said was true, then I will probably die a lonely old woman.
I’m much better now, and I’m consoling myself with the fact that maybe one day, I will meet a guy with strong enough prescription pills to love me just the way I am. And I won’t tell you what he said just in case the future hubby-slash-prescription-pill-swallower is reading this right now. However, the whole episode made me wonder if I’ve been lying to myself this whole time.
One thing a lot of people don’t know about me is that I sometimes have complex issues and I have a habit of constantly putting myself down. How it works is, even before you mention it, I will tell you that I have only three strands of hair. Before you tell me that my clothes are last season, I would’ve described myself as old school. It’s the same with my work, my looks, my writing… there’s not much about me that I think is good enough. Or at least as good as I would like it to be.
I am genuinely amazed at people who can stand in front of a mirror and talk about how “hawt” they are or at guys who brag about how charming they are. There are people with heads shaped like used condoms who describe themselves as being very irresistible to the ladies. Girls with dual-purpose asses that can double as ironing boards who talk about how guys wanna “tap this booty”. I even have a friend who thinks he’s a better writer than Stephen King, John Grisham and Obasanjo put together… but the first time I read one of his stories, I had tears in my eyes. Tears because his work was that painful to read.
Yeah, I know you gotta be your biggest cheerleader, your biggest fan and your biggest supporter. I know all that Oprah-self-help BS, but my question is, where do you draw the line between self-confidence and self-deceit??
Me, I’m of the belief that, if you’re hot or charming or brilliant or swimming in money or whatever, you won’t have to say it or make so much noise about it. It’ll show naturally.
I don’t know if I’m making sense… I’ve decided to start reading some self-help books. I might get answers there.
As you were…