Here’s how it went. A former employer hired me do to some editorial work. It was a two week job, and paid more than I’ve ever received in one go. I was pretty excited about it. I was apprehensive as well, because dealing with this client had been draining in the past. But I figured I was now older, wiser, and more experienced. I would make it work.

Except I couldn’t. Two weeks, 29 excuses, and 3 extensions later, the contract has been terminated. It got to a point where the client was understandably fed up, and frankly, I don’t blame them. I’m surprised that they were patient with me for so long.

The reason I’m talking about holograms is I had plans. I had budgeted every last cent of that 200K. I knew where every shilling was going. Except now, it isn’t. They always tell you not to count your chickens before they’re hatched. It’s even wiser not to spend your cash before it’s chequed. Or something like that. So now that the holo-money has vapourized, I’m in a bit of a rut.

I suppose I’ve mourned the loss of this lovely huge paycheque. I denied that the work couldn’t be done, bargained for more time, got angry at myself for letting it slip, sank to some pretty low levels of disappointment, and finally settled for numb, dead acceptance. I don’t suppose it helped that I had personal issues to deal with. I buried myself in work to hide from all my ‘stuff’, but in the end, everything went south.

For the last two weeks, I’ve been up all night and all day getting work done, and in the end, I compromised on both. I was so sleepy at work that I snapped at everyone and barely wrote coherently. It’s a miracle I got anything sensible done. And I failed to deliver on the ‘night job’ despite endless trans-nighting and extensions. I seriously doubt I’ll take on such a big side job again. In fact, I’m considering dropping freelancing altogether and just raising chicken.

I have a friend who ran a successful freelance biz for years. She averaged 150K a month. Then she got a 9 to 5 that paid three times that much. She tried to keep the freelancing alive, but in the end, she had to let it go. She said it wasn’t possible to keep the two ‘men’ in her life happy. When I started my 9 to 5 at the agency, I told her I’d find a way to balance my primary and secondary jobs. She smiled and said she’d wait and see. I wonder if she’ll call to say ‘I told you so.’

PS: As long as we're talking about visions in 3D, HoloTupac is creepy. Way, way, way creepy.

I realized something about myself this week. I’m the type that runs away from things. A lot of people say I’m dependable, but I know that when the going gets really, really tough, I bail. I’ve always known that I delete blogs, twitter accounts, and email accounts when I get upset. I know that I rip manuscripts in fits of temper. I know that I summarily dismiss people from my life. But I didn’t think those things were related.

This week, I walked away from something that used to be really important to me. It made me feel fickle that something I held so dear suddenly meant nothing at all. I’ve done the same thing with friends and partners in the past. People who meant the world to me inadvertently said or did the wrong thing and got kicked out of my life. It’s not something to be proud of, but it’s something that I do. Frequently. It sometimes keeps me from making new friends, because at the back of my mind, I’m wondering how long it will be before I give them marching orders.

I’m floating in a semi-empty space today. I spent a few minutes meditating, just to clear my head. It didn’t really help. That’s something I’ve gotten into lately – energy healing and meditation. It’s making me wonder whether I’m in an experimental phase, doing things I never thought I’d do. I wonder what I’ll try next. Maybe I should make a list. For now, Pranic Healing fits. But then again, a lot of things fit before I ditch them.

I’m in a dark space right now. It’s been a while since I was here. Last night I danced with rock-bottom. But then I looked at my little girl. Sometimes she talks in her sleep, giving me a hug just when I need it, or saying just the right words. Times like that, I know she’s sending me a message from the angels, especially because she never remembers what she said in the morning.

I have a pattern of self sabotage when it comes to money. I land big projects then I do everything possible to screw them up. And while I’m doing it, I think I’m doing everything possible NOT to screw them up.

I realized the reason I keep doing this is I think I’m not worthy of being paid for my work. I’m ridiculously confident about my ability, so God knows why I would think I shouldn’t be paid for it, but I do. And I’m working on it. The next time I land a big job – because there will be a next time, I’ll do my due diligence. In the words of my latest side-gig-master, I’d rather turn work down than screw it up.

In the meantime, I’m going underground for a month. I’ve gotten a leave from the day-job, and given super-nanny the month off. Starting next Wednesday, all I plan to do is sleep, sleep, and sleep. I might take a few breaks to feed my baby, walk her to school, and watch crime documentaries, but other than that, me and bed are getting really tight. I could use the down time, and I intend to enjoy it. Now to see just how long the lethargy will last before I find a new way to drive somebody mad.

♫ She’s so gone ♫ Lemonade Mouth ♫

As matatus round the bout (so to speak) people get robbed. What happens is the thugs pose as pedestrians trying to cross the street, then as the matatus slow to go round the bend, the thugs run after the car, hop onto one of the wheel caps, pull the window open, and grab a handbag, wallet, or phone. It happens so quickly that the victim barely has time to yell before the thief and their property is gone.

If you’ve been on that route long enough, you tense up as you approach the corner, and as you look out of the window, you sometimes stare straight into the eyes of a thug in waiting. The makangas are aware of it too, and sometimes they’ll yell a warning just as the car slows down. The warnings don’t always work.

What bothers me about Kona Mbaya is that the thugs have absolutely no fear of the cops, who are barely a metre away. They know the matatu won’t stop even if the victim raises an alarm, and even if it did, traffic is so heavy that there’s no hope of running after them. During one such robbery, the thugs were in a  large group of five or six. One of the thugs reached into the window and grabbed a phone. The victim held onto the phone, gripping it tightly, but the thug struggled and yanked the phone out of its owners hands. All this happened while the matatu was still moving, and the the thug was so confident that he didn’t even run away. He just stood there with his friends, staring at the matatu, almost daring the victim to get out and confront them. *shudder*

I’ve wanted to write this post for a long time, but I was looking for a positive light to shine on it. I haven’t found one yet. I keep coming back to how someone can grab your phone, something you probably saved up to buy, something that holds phone numbers, messages, and data that is worth much more than the thousands you spent on the phone. Then they’ll pawn it for a fraction of its price, spend the money on something trivial, and come back the next night to take someone else’s stuff.

Or maybe they grab your bag, ditch all your documents in some trash heap or alley, and you’ll be left spending weeks or months trying to get your papers back in order. You’ll lose photos and memories that may be irreplaceable while they’ll get nothing more than your fare home. Sometimes I wonder whether people like that have a conscience, and I remember reading a comment by a looter in a university demo. He said if his victims had nothing to steal, he wouldn’t steal from them.

I suppose that’s the attitude of the Kona Mbaya residents. They figure if we’re comfortable enough to have matatu fare, handbags, and phones, then they’re justified in stealing from us. I don’t have any solutions, condemnations, or suggestions. But if you’re anywhere near Kona Mbaya, keep your eyes on the window and your hands on your mobile phone and handbag.

In other news, Landmark is making me amazingly open to being a female. I’m finally at ease in my womanhood, and I’m taking etiquette classes to boost that. I had a mini-make-over a few weeks ago, and can now be seen in [sensible] heels and ‘cloth trousers’ at least three times a week. The heels are tricky because I keep forgetting that I’m not wearing sneakers, then I end up throwing my legs around and looking like a lost ostrich. I’ve learnt to do eye make-up, though I’m still navigating my way around foundation, lip pout, cleansers, and primers.

I’m coming out of myself more, because I realize that while I do enjoy being alone, I won’t get much done that way. Even great novelists need to go outside and meet their unborn characters. I’ve always been a little a lot afraid of girls, and the biggest thing I’ve taken from Landmark is that I have girlfriends now! I had a good friend come over and we talked and did our hair until 10.00 p.m. Another pal spent the afternoon with me and the princess watching cartoons and chatting.

I’ve got a girlfriend that I talk to for make-up tips. She’s a girl I’ve known since I was six years old but only just rediscovered, and now I can’t do without her. My other pal from high school has become my partner in … um … crime … and I feel disturbed if I go three days without speaking to her. I’m a lot more open to meet-ups with girls I’ve met online, and  I know I have some cleaning up from the past…

My favourite new friend and I talk on the phone almost every day, and we’re exploring a whole lot together, looking for healthy food options and discovering Vagina Monologues, Scrabble Haunts, and Sushi Bars. It’s a big deal for me because I never go out, I never do ‘girly stuff’ and I never, ever, EVER attend ‘social things’ so I’m very grateful to my new friend for helping me into the great beyond. And she has pretty curly hair to boot! I just love pretty curly hair.

Another big effect of Landmark is that my little girl got her daddy back. We’ve forgiven each other for everything that happened between us and we’re now focusing on restoring his relationship with our daughter and letting her know her little brother. Now that I’ve finally let go of the all the bitterness and anger, and now that my new friend helped the pain to heal, my heart can find a soul mate, and it’s a pretty cool thing. I should probably start practising that guitar song…

I’ve made a few promises to myself. I’ll put more effort in my writing work. I’ll update all those blogs once a week. I’ll build a rates page and beef up my CV. I’ll spend an hour bidding every day. I’ll go out and meet new people, because my knight in shining armour won’t come knocking on my door. For one thing, the caretaker won’t let his horse in, and for another, he can’t ride Nairobi traffic!

I’ve always had a problem with depression, and my solution is always to hide inside my room and try to think my way out of it. I noticed in the past that whenever I talk to people in person or on the phone, I’m cheerful and infectious, but the second I hung up or shut the door and get back inside my mind, the dark feelings return.

I thought it was because I was pretending to be cheerful, but I realize that being with other people helps me get out of my head, focus on them, and give them what they need. I’m not sure how to handle that, since I’m still ideally a loner, but as my friend said, with time and practice, I’ll learn to accept hanging out with people as a viable alternative to being by myself.

It doesn’t mean I’ll stop being an introvert, but it does mean I’ll get to live life instead of just observing it go by. My loved ones have told me this for years, and I always wrote them off for trying to change me. But one thing I’ve learned from Landmark is that changing the stuff that doesn’t work never stops me from being myself, and that’s a really, really cool thing.

♫ Sooner or later ♫ Matt Kearney ♫

]]> http://threeceebee.com/2012/04/kona-mbaya/feed/ 3 http://threeceebee.com/2012/03/aisha-vedito-and-random-office-crushes/ http://threeceebee.com/2012/03/aisha-vedito-and-random-office-crushes/#comments Tue, 27 Mar 2012 14:27:29 +0000 crystal http://threeceebee.com/?p=4329 It’s no secret that my dream car is an X6. I have no idea where I’m going to get the 15M to buy one, but until quite recently, I’ve been content to wait. After all, driving a Nissan while dreaming of Aisha (that’s her name) seems blasphemous somehow. That’s why I was so excited when I found out I could get her for 4.4 instead of 15! Yay!

Unfortunately, I need a car faster than it will take me to raise those millions. See, our office is in transit. We’ll be moving to Kalamu House as soon as they put the new sofas in. And the walls. And the windows. And the cubicles. And the pool table. And the bunk beds. The boss says six weeks, but I’m guessing it could take a bit longer than that.

Here’s the thing. Kalamu House is a beautiful working space. But it’s faaaaaaar! I’d have to get off the mathree and then walk 15 minutes just to get to the office gate. That’s not so bad in the morning, but could be tricky at 6 or 7 p.m., which is when I generally leave the office. Plus, the road is a murram stretch with minimal lighting. Granted there’s a military base nearby, but I doubt the soldiers would jump to my rescue if I was being mugged. Apart from my interesting office hours, I’m also spending a lot of time at Landmark, which means I’ll be in town till 10.00 p.m. at least twice a week.

The clincher was this weekend. The little one and I had a busy day running errands and visiting people. We had to go from Lang’ata to Waruku to Kileleshwa and back to Lang’ata. We ended up spending 500/= on matatus alone, and we lost a lot of time connecting mats. I kept thinking how much easier (and cheaper) things would be if we had a car. I know cars need maintenance, insurance, and the patience of 69 saints (you know, to avoid sacrificing matatu crews to the gods of wrath and vengeance). But with 500/= worth of fuel and ample parking at our errand spots, the weekend would have been so much better.

I have a neighbour who works in my building, so we randomly bump into each other both at work and at home. He drives, I jav, so lately, we meet at 6.00 a.m. He’ll be taking his morning run and I’ll be … walking my baby to school. See, to get to work by 8.30, I need to leave my house at 6.10. He can leave much later, because he has a car. Also, I spent way too long in traffic yesterday, and got thoroughly pissed off. Add that to all the money I’m spending on transport lately and I really need a car.

Three things. One, I  haven’t been in a car since the day I passed(?) my driving test. I can’t be sure I passed because the cop lady yelled at me and I panicked, froze, and burst into tears. Later, the male cop tried to make a silly move but the police woman stopped him – bless her! But I do have a valid license, so that’s something.  Two, I have no idea how I’m going to pay for that car. All I know is I’m getting it. And three, it’s going to be a ‘family car.’ The family members in question live in three different houses, so I predict a lot of custody fights.

I don’t know what kind of car I want, except that I need it to be pretty, cost effective, fuel efficient, manual, and red. All the cars that I find pretty are expensive. For example, I’d rather not drive a Toyota unless it’s an Allion or a  Corolla LX. The Platz is pretty too. But none of those are in the 300K range. I wouldn’t mind a BMW or a Peugeot 406, though I’ve been told they have low resale value and expensive parts. That and you’re unlikely get either for 300K.

I’d actually looked at a gorgeous Peugeot 306 with an asking price of 270. It was Jungle Green and had a driver’s door that opened using a method that looked eerily similar to hot wiring. The central locking system had issues, as did the wiper motor. The windscreen was cracked in two places, and the boot could only be accessed from inside the car.

I named the car Vedito, from verdi, which I think is Spanish for green. I was going to call him Verdy, but that’s my iPod’s name. Yes, I liked the car enough to give it a name even though I didn’t own it yet, and yes, the car is a he. I talked to the owner a few times and arranged for a test drive, but my brother didn’t like it. The car, not the test drive. I trust his powers of veto, so we’re back to just looking. Suggestions and specs are welcome.

In other news, I have a new crush. He’s someone I see on the daily, so it’s unlikely that I’ll date him. I think I’d get tired of being with someone all day every day, which is why I don’t quite think I’m ready for marriage. About my crush, I’m attracted to his spirit and his character. He has a way of getting things done which I find very powerful and manly. It put me off at first – his take-charge attitude. But now I think it’s his best feature. And he has the most adorable smile.

I know couples that met at work, dated, got married, and lived happily ever after. But I don’t think that would work for me. I think if I spent my entire 8-hour workday with you, I wouldn’t want to spend my away-from-office time with you as well. It’s fine for civilized, one-off chips-type things, but I’d find it hard to gaze into the eyes of someone that I sit with every day from 9 to 5. So I clearly don’t want to date my crush.

Besides, I’ve finally accepted that men like to chase, and that as a strong woman, I’m asking them out at my peril. So I don’t plan to confess my crush or anything like that. What I’d really like to do is spend more time with him in a  non-work setting. Yes, I realize that contradicts what I said up there *pointing*. It sounds like I want to date him for a little bit, with the sole purpose of eliminating my desire to date him.

Of course the question becomes how to ask him out without asking him out, especially when the whole point of the exercise is to go on enough dates to make me stop wanting to ask him out? Hmm. I need more chocolate.

♫ When they Come for Me  ♫ Linkin Park ♫

The thing with advertising in Kenya is that it’s not exactly a blue collar job. As a result, lots of people in advertising are expected to be ‘baabis’ even though that isn’t always the case. Speaking for myself, I was a baabi long before I got into advertising. Which is why I know what bingo is. For me, the word ‘Bingo’ makes me think of different things:

1. Old people playing playing with balls and yelling a lot.
2. A song about a dog – it was probably invented by a nursery school teacher.
3. The only scene in Inglourious Bastards that actually made me laugh.
4. A cartoon character named Didgeri Dingo.

I don’t know a whole lot about bingo except that it’s a mild form of gambling. There’ll be a scene in a movie with some poignant conversation. The conversation might involve two residents of a nursing home, or a visitor and his mother/father/grandfather. In the background, someone will yell ‘Bingo!’ But in the ‘real world’ bingo isn’t just a plot device. It’s a low key lottery where you can make some good money.

Enter Foxy Bingo, a site that proves anything is sexy if you look at it the right way. It’s a virtual space where you can play bingo anywhere you like, without the soundtrack or the balls or the scary orderlies with meds and needles. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly SFW, and the fox in question isn’t going to give you a heart attack.

I’m on this mental trip that makes me try out new things. It helps me get out of my comfort zone and ‘take control of my life’ though the phrase we use is ‘Being Cause in The Matter.’ Yes, it’s a Landmark thing. No, Landmark doesn’t make people gamble, though for one of my forum leaders, gambling was how he knew his mother was finally happy.

In her case, gambling was a good thing, because she’d spent her whole living for other people. She had dropped out of school to look after her siblings, then gotten married and looked after her husband and children. So when she was finally free to ‘do her own thing’ she got into the fun and exhilarating game of chance. Luckily, she had kids to help her do it responsibly.

For me, Landmark isn’t about slot machines and blackjack. But I am taking chances in my life. Gambles like noting down the number on a ‘Quick Sale’ sign, talking to the vendor, and taking a test drive even though I have no idea how I’m going to pay for the car. Or having conversations with my exes just to clear things up. So while I’m not quite in casinos yet, if I was going to try my luck, I’d like to be sitting in my house, curled up on my favourite chair, playing on a safe, colourful site with lots of pretty lights and foxes. And the site has purple too!

♫ Crooked Teeth ♫Death Cab for Cutie ♫

I figured maybe I was on the wrong TLs, so I reviewed my lists, culled my follows, and logged out. Three days later I looked at my TL again. Still nothing. It made me sad. These days I hardly tweet at all, though I lurk the TL once in a while. I almost always respond to @Mentions, and I communicate a lot on DM, but it’s getting harder and harder to talk to the bird.

I’m sad because it makes me feel old. It makes me feel the fad has passed for me, and I miss the fervour and passion that I had for my addiction. I also feel sad because I’ve met such cool people on Twitter. Some of my associations have blossomed into offline friendships and even a romance or two, #NoChipsFunga. I feel sad about all the new people I’m missing out on just by losing interest in Twitter.

Chirping less does have some advantages though. I’m reading a lot more, and have finished 7 novels since I made the decision to log off on 22nd January. I’m writing more too – mostly in my journal, because all those random thoughts have to go somewhere. I also text a lot, because 160 characters is as close as I can get, and since I can only text people I physically know, my relationships are working better. New levels of communication and all that.

I can’t abandon Twitter completely, because I work at a Digital Agency, so I use it a lot for work. But the ‘social’ in social media is now largely dead for me. Right now, it’s all about business. So If I don’t follow-back or reply your mention, don’t be mad. It’s nothing personal. I’ve just kicked an addiction with no withdrawal symptoms. I’m sure I’ll be back eventually, but for now, it’s me and my SMS/Journal/Blog/PDF/Novels. Peace.

♫ First Try ♫ Tracy Chapman ♫

This guy calls me from 0789345646. He claimed to be Samuel Mwangi from Safaricom. He asked how my day was going and whether I was enjoying my weekend, then said and he wanted to ask me a few questions. Now, I work fairly closely with the Safaricom Team, so I assumed it was a call from the office. When the guy asked me when I first signed up for M-PESA, I absent-mindedly replied that I had no idea. He raised his voice and asked why I had given him that answer, and I shrugged and said I’d used the service for years, so I had no clue when I signed up. He asked if I had a receipt that I could check for reference, and I said I probably did, but again, I had no idea.

At that point, I figured it was probably a con, so I told him that I work for Safaricom, which is technically true. He rudely asked me which Safaricom I meant, and I asked him how many Safaricoms he knew about. I’m not sure what was said after that, because I was getting really irritated. I asked him if he knew who he was speaking to, and he said he knew me very well. So I asked how I could help him. That seemed to really annoy him. How could I help him?!? I said he had called my number, and I work for Safaricom, so he should tell me how he’d like me to help him.

I asked him what he wanted from me, and he said he wanted to rape me. I asked him again if he knew me, and he said he did, so I asked him what my name was. He wondered about my reason such questions, and I said since he clearly knew me and wanted to do things to me, he should tell me my name and ID number, because otherwise, he was simply wasting my time. He responded that if he was wasting my time, then I should hang up, so I wished him a nice day and hung up.

I was pretty upset by then. My hands were shaking and my voice was raised, so I immediately texted for advice. I tried to log on to Twitter, but data was down, so I started dialling the numbers of everyone I know at Safaricom to see who was on duty. I finally found somebody at his desk and asked if they could flag the number.

He seemed more amused than anything else. He said women get calls like that all the time, and that sometimes the callers get really obscene and abusive, so I apparently got off easy. He figured it was a call from a prison, but since it wasn’t a Safaricom number, they couldn’t do anything about it. He suggested I report the number to the police instead.

I tried giving myself a landmark talk to calm down. We learn in the course that actions in themselves are meaningless, and that it’s only our interpretations that give them meaning. We are human machines, so we have no control over our thoughts and feelings. They’re automatic. But we do have control over how we interpret situations. An expensive broken glass could be a reason to panic, or an excuse for a shopping trip. Same broken glass, two extremely polarized reactions.

I asked myself why I was upset about the call. Some random man wanted to rape me. Why would he want to that? I don’t know him! I haven’t done anything to him. Why would he want to hurt me like that? Then I asked myself – has he raped me? No. Can he rape me? Probably not. Does he know where I am? No. Can he get to me? No. Then why exactly am I upset?

That calmed me down a little, but I was still shaking. So I took it a step further. I was upset because this man was trying to con me. He was trying to take away my money. How dare he? I work hard for that money! He’s probably some asshole sitting in some prison trying to hurt people. What about the people who fell for his tricks? What about the innocents who gave him their M-PESA details, letting him hack their accounts? He was already in jail, so he was probably a criminal. Hadn’t he learnt his lesson? What kind of evil person was he, and why are such evil people allowed to live?

But then I tried to see things from his point of view. I’ve heard a lot of people justify crime. Thugs say if you didn’t have stuff to steal, they wouldn’t rob you. You’re probably better off than them, and it’s only fair to share. After all, you can probably replace what they steal, so they clearly need the stuff more than you do. You’re insured, right?

Conmen say if you weren’t stupid or greedy, you wouldn’t have fallen for their schemes, so they’re justified to trick you. The prisoner probably figures that I have my liberty while he’s locked up with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Nobody will hire him once he gets out – if he gets out. So it’s okay for him to earn his money any way he can. In his mind, he’s not evil at all – just really, really smart. He was probably more pissed off at me than I was at him. After all, he was using his airtime to call me, spending his money to harass me. How dare I waste his time without giving him M-PESA in exchange? Why couldn’t I be like everyone else and fall for his trick?

This is all supposed to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. It probably will tomorrow, but right now, it doesn’t. Meanwhile I’m bitchy and cranky and it’s getting to my baby. We’re sitting in a living room with dark cloudy faces, banging away on computers because we’re too mad to communicate with each other. My moods have a way of rubbing off on her, so you really don’t want to visit us during PMS, and this afternoon is no different.

See, she was there when I got the call. She heard me yelling into the phone and she asked why I was upset. She was there when I texted for help and advice, trying to hide the tears. She’s been here while I type and ask her not to read, because she’ll only get worried. But now she’s down because she knows there’s something wrong, she doesn’t know how to fix it, and each time she tries, I just push her away. She thinks it’s her I’m mad at so she’s settled for playing a cake-baking game. Meanwhile I’m trying my hardest to ignore everyone because I’m scared that if I open my mouth, I’ll let out a string of curses.

The thing with landmark theories is they mostly hit you when you’re not looking. Maybe at some point in my sleep it will sink in and everything will make sense, but right I’m still shaken and upset. My hands have stopped vibrating, and now I just feel cranky and sad. The trouble with the New Age theories that I believe is they have no place for hell. They allow for open-mindedness and understanding of every being on earth, so they rarely lay blame. They believe that everyone is right in their own way, because nobody ever sets out to do evil. They just do what they must to survive. But then what do I do with all my anger? How do I survive in a world where I can’t feel righteous, where I can’t believe in some form of punishment for people who hurt others?

I noticed that the room was suddenly quiet, so I went in search of my baby, who had slipped away. I found her curled up in bed in the dark, because she thought that I was mad at her. I cuddled her and talked to her and explained my mood was not her fault. Then she asked me to help her find something on the computer. Now we’re eating digestives and playing around on Google. Sometimes it helps to get outside your head and just notice the world around you, even when you’re pissed off at the assholes of the world.

♫ These are the moments ♫ Edwin Mcain ♫

Yesterday, at around 1.00 p.m. I got knocked down by a car, and my little girl was with me. I’ve tried to remember how it happened, but I have a blank spot at that moment. I remember visiting my good friend Bobo. I remember us debating about whether we should take the Woodley mathree or go to the main road. I remember us eating Choc-Stick and telling the ice cream vendor how we used to buy Red Devil for 7 bob. He kept asking us which year that was, because apparently, neither of us looks old enough to have bought ice cream in 1987. I remember my baby girl suggesting, for the third time, that we should take the Woodley matatus instead. But we were already on Ngong Road, and we could see a Citi Hoppa, so we figured we might as well take it.

We were standing near Posta, trying to get across, but the road was really busy, so we waited. A motorist stopped and waved at us to pass. We hesitated, but he waved again, so we waved back and crossed one half of the road. When we got to the middle of the road, we saw a white car some distance away, and decided to risk it. I figured he could see us, and he would slow down. Plus, he was fairly far away. I was sure we would make it.

Next thing I knew I was on the ground and searching frantically for my daughter. I’ve heard people talk about a glimpses of inertia, a sensation of flying, and seeing the scenes of their lives flash past. I didn’t have any of that. I didn’t feel the impact. I didn’t even know that I’d been hit. All I was aware of was a white car, a moment of darkness, and an urgent need to find my baby. For all I know, I could have blacked out for an hour or more.

I saw her on the curb screaming, and I looked her over to make sure she wasn’t hurt. There was yelling all around me, but all I knew was I needed to get my baby calm and off the road. I tried speaking to her softly, but she was in hysterics. I managed to get her off the curb, then turned to pick our bags. We had about three of them, and there were arms all over trying to yank them.

My friend was five minutes away, so my plan was to get somewhere quiet and call her for help. But there were people everywhere yelling unintelligibly. I just wanted to get away and be quiet. I noticed a man grabbing my arm and trying to get me into his car, but there was too much commotion, and I never get into cars with people I don’t know. He was yelling that I was hurt and he wanted to help, but I just wanted to be left alone. I had my daughter in one arm, my bags in the other, and all these people crowding me. I don’t do well with crowds.

I tried calmly asking him to let go of my arm, because my baby was getting more and more worked up and I needed to get her somewhere safe, but he wouldn’t listen, so I lost it and started yelling at him to leave me alone. He was squeezing my arm and hurting me, and I told him so, but he wouldn’t listen.

That’s when my baby girl kicked into defense mode. She stopped crying and started screaming at the man. ‘Leave her alone! Leave my mom alone!’ I was just as shocked as the man, and somehow he let go of my arm. I quickly steered my baby onto a grassy patch and we called for help.

There were still people all around. I have no idea where the motorist went, but people were yelling that they had his details and that I should call someone. I just took my baby to a shade near St. Hannahs and we sat down. I had started shaking, and noticed that while my baby looked fine, I had a lot of blood in my eyes. I refused to think about it. I was probably going into shock, because I wanted to scream and scream and scream, but I knew if I started, I’d never stop. So I focused on keeping my baby calm until Bobo came.

The second she arrived, we both crumbled. My baby, who had settled down, started wailing again, and I called several numbers trying to get a ride while explaining what had happened to Bobo. I have feeling that I wasn’t quite coherent. Bobo kept telling me to relax, and in the end she got us a cab and paid for it. She wanted us to go to her place and clean up – she seemed really worried about me. My head was burning but I lied that I was fine. I just wanted to get my baby home where it was safe.

In the taxi, my baby dozed off from exhaustion, and I felt some hysteria creeping in. I’m generally a loner, and I live like I don’t need anyone. But I was shaking, I was scared, my face was bleeding. I didn’t want to be alone. I called him to come help me. He has recently reappeared in my life, and he was the first name that came to mind. But he didn’t answer the call. I texted 15 people including my mum, dad, step-mum, brothers, and three of my dearest friends. Nobody responded. I can only think of one other moment in my life when I felt as abandoned as I did right then.

But I knew I had to keep it together, so I got home, made my baby strip, and checked her for injuries. Apart from a few grazes on her wrists, she was fine. She kept asking me to check my head, which was still bleeding and had soaked two handkerchiefs, but I needed to be sure she was okay before I began to worry about me.

Once I was sure she was settled, I walked over to the mirror for the first time. Christ! Had I been walking around like that?!? I had two cuts above my eye and red stains down one side of my face – I looked terrible! No wonder everyone was staring. I got some warm water and spirit and cleaned out the wounds. They looked much better, though the stubborn cut wouldn’t stop bleeding. I stripped and checked myself in front of the mirror as well. Some grazes on my waist, thigh, and elbow, but not much else. I wanted to get some dressings and pain killers, but my baby was too scared to stay in the house alone, so we walked to a nearby chemist to get checked out. We were given some painkillers and advised to let the wounds dry out unbandaged. We went back home, crawled into bed, and promptly fell asleep.

From the moment of the accident, people kept asking the same questions over and over again. “Where did the driver go? Did he stop? Why didn’t you let him take you to hospital? Did you get his details?” Even after the man had left, people still seemed eager to give me his number plate and description. I wondered why that was so important, since all I cared about was that we were safe.

As I told the story to a few more people, another question arose repeatedly, ‘What time did it happen?’ They couldn’t believe I got knocked over by a car in broad daylight. I suppose the logic behind all the questions was the blame game. I mean, it was a road accident, so somebody had to be at fault. I tried to figure it out myself. At one key level, it was my fault, because it was my decision to cross the road, and in the past, I’d have beaten myself to a pulp over that. But the blank spot in my mind made it difficult to establish exactly what happened.

The witnesses said they’d seen everything, and that the driver wasn’t looking at the road. He was staring over his shoulder when he hit us, which I suppose is why they kept trying to give me his number plate. The only reason I was able to keep it together long enough to get my baby to safety was the little voice in my head. It kept saying ‘It was an accident. Stuff happens. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It just happened.’ The voice said it over and over again with such clarity that it overpowered my emotions. It drowned out my self-blame at getting my baby hurt, my anger at the driver, my panic at the crowds, my resentment at the people trying to steal my stuff. It kept me calm long enough for Bobo to arrive, and after that, it was all her.

That voice came from The Landmark Forum. It came from David yelling over and over that events and actions have no meaning. They’re just things that happen. What gives them meaning is our interpretation. That’s why when I was in my deepest need and nobody responded, I didn’t get upset. It doesn’t mean they don’t love me. They hadn’t abandoned me. They were simply in bed, or in church, or hung over, or in the shower. They weren’t ignoring me. It wasn’t personal.

I got through the crisis and lay down with my baby to rest. About two hours later, the frantic calls and texts arrived, but by then the worst was gone, and I was the one comforting them! My step-mum and step-sister came to check on us, and despite the soreness, my baby was so ‘together’ that she immediately took out some stocks and started selling! [She runs her own business at age nine - I'm so proud!]

There were points in between when I did break down. I did feel lost and isolated, and I did blame myself, so there were moments when I broke down and just cried and cried and cried. I only did it while she was asleep, because I don’t like her to see me like that. I knew she was scared, and I knew this could scar her, but I had no idea how to reach her and heal her and help her. I’d cleaned her outside wounds, but how do you mend a person on the inside?

I can’t help tying the weekend to my experience at Landmark. Last week was really rough for me, and I spent it dragging around like a zombie. On Friday, I had a particularly hard time and couldn’t find any of my support group, so I went online looking for Landmark Resources. Instead I found sites attacking The Forum, and by the time I’d been through five of them, I wanted nothing more to do with Landmark.

But I realize without The Forum, I would never have made it through that accident. I would have bogged myself down with thoughts. What if the car hadn’t stopped on impact? What if it had gone on after throwing us and crushed us under its wheels? What if I had died on the spot – who would have helped my baby? She was sitting on the curb screaming in hysterics. If I hadn’t gotten up and moved her, would she have taken my phone off my body to call for help? Would she have let anyone touch her? Would they have helped her? Would they have known who to call if those creepy hands had run off with my handset and wallet?

But instead of these thoughts crowding my head, I heard, ‘It’s an accident. Accidents happen. Get her home where it’s safe.’ The questions are back now, and they’re haunting me, which is why I’m going back to Landmark. I have a lot more demons that I need to exorcise, and since The Forum got me through one of the scariest moments in my life, I think it’s the only place for me to go.

There are three other things that have shown that The Forum is working for me. When I called my parents last weekend to mend my relationship, I didn’t think I’d made any difference. But a few days ago, my mum sent me a text asking me to get my brother to attend The Forum. She says she’s seen the change in me, and she’d like to see it in him as well. She’s even willing to pay for it. Of course when I told my brother, he burst out laughing.

Secondly, my dad called me from a  business trip and for the first time since I was 9 years old, he asked what I’d like him to bring back for me. I felt like his little girl again, and that’s saying a whole lot. The third thing is I was able to take 15 cases of apparent ‘rejection’ without it getting personal. This is me, the girl who jumps into ‘they hate me’ mode every time a phone call goes unanswered.

At the end of The Forum, we were asked to state our new possibilities. I now stand for the possibility of being rich, happy, content, writing tons of novels, and teaching a forum for kids and teens, because I want my baby to take the course right here at home. I don’t want her to struggle through life like I have – not when she doesn’t have to.

I’m starting a Landmark Seminar on the 7th of March, and I’m taking the Advanced Class on the 30th of March. I’m still not sure how I’ll pay for it, but I know I will. Meanwhile, if you’re interested in taking this journey, the next Landmark Forum [beginner's class] is on September 7th, 8th, 9th and 11th and costs 14,000/=, so you should really think about signing up. It sounds silly on the surface, and my friend Bobo joked that I was so resistant to Landmark that I had to get hit by a car to get the message. But it really is about making life better, for everyone, and as hard as it sometimes is, it’s working for me, and it would be really awesome if it could work for you.

♫ Everything’s Wrong ♫ Crossfade ♫

Samsam is a stand-up sort of guy, and I trust his judgement. He’s an interesting mix of quirky and sensible, so whenever I need advice or a good laugh, he’s the one I call. We’ve spoken a lot over the last few weeks because I’ve been dealing with some heavy personal issues, and the conversation always came back to Landmark.

At some point, I got convinced that it would actually be a good idea to attend, but I was broke. Samsam suggested I try raising the deposit first, and I said yes, just to shut him up. Five minutes later, I received an unexpected payment that was the exact amount of the deposit. Ooooookaaaaaay. In the next three days, I raised borrowed the rest of the forum fee and took a day off work. While filling the registration forms, I panicked because it suddenly seemed like more than I could handle. But I was sure this was something I needed, so despite being terrified and worried, I showed up at The Heron on Friday.

When I signed up for Landmark, I thought it was a self-help course. It’s not. It’s about getting life to work. Not just my life, but everyone else’s lives as well. In the week before the forum, I’d made a list of all the areas in my life where I needed to fix stuff. Then I realized the forum would only last three days, so I started crossing off issues until I was left with my most urgent need – how to make more money. So I walked into that room on Friday expecting quick and sensible get-rich scheme.

For the first few minutes, I was incredibly sceptical. I mean, I know I’m a barbie and everything, but I kept thinking Kenyans don’t go to motivational seminars! That’s stuff you see on TV. I shook my head and wondered what I was doing there. I was especially miffed when I was told I couldn’t take notes. I mean, note-taking is my thing!! How would I remember anything without writing it down? Besides, I have the attention span of a beetle. If anyone talks for more than two minutes, I zone out. It’s why I can’t handle groupwork or audio books. It’s also why I scribble a lot during meetings. I’m not taking minutes – I’m trying to stay awake.

Within minutes, I was paying rapt attention to the forum leader. He explained that the forum would be different at different points, saying sometimes we’d be excited, other times we’d be bored, other times we’d be trying to punch through walls. And he was right. Several times during the forum I wanted to run out screaming and never come back. Other times I wanted to dance around the room hugging everybody. Every evening when I left the forum to go home, I was so lost and confused that I was sure I wouldn’t come back the next day. But in the morning something would always happen to tip me over and I’d show up.

For me, there were three key points in the forum. Firstly, we complicate life an awful lot, but it’s basically made up of two things – the stuff that happens and the way we interpret the stuff that happens. No event can make you unhappy. Only your interpretation of the event can do that. For example, if an expensive glass drops and breaks, that’s not sad. But if a glass falls and I start thinking I’ll get in trouble over it, then I click into panic mode and end up depressed. It’s not the broken glass that made me sad – it’s how I translated it.

Secondly, human nature exists in two gears. We either complain about stuff, or we look for answers. If we find the answer we’ll probably turn around and complain about something else. Whatever you’re doing in life, you’re either complaining about a situation, or you’re trying to figure out how to resolve it. Granted we have thoughts and feelings and emotions, but we simply use them to interpret what has happened, complain about it, then look for a solution. It’s an endless and sometimes joyless cycle.

In my own life, I imagine that I have all these problems. Things like never having enough money [no matter how much of it I actually have], trying to raise my daughter right in a crazy world, struggling to meet all my responsibilities and on and on and on. I realized a while back that my whole life is about feeling I’m not good enough, trying to prove that I am, and then convincing myself that I’m not and starting all over again. I didn’t know why I felt that way. I figured it’s just the way I am.

At the forum, I had a tense first day as we talked about life and family and relationships. The reason I feel unworthy of love, friendship, money, wealth, comfort, happiness is that I had convinced myself that my parents didn’t love me. I mean, if your own parents don’t want you, then who can? I built that into rackets like I’m unlove-able, I’ll never find anyone to love me, I’m not worth anything, I’ll never get anywhere in life, I’m a failure. It made me get into relationships, situations, and even jobs that reinforced how unloved and unworthy I felt, and I’ve done a lot of stupid things because of it.

The forum solution was to admit they love me, then call them and apologize for being a spoilt brat my whole life. Once I discovered that, I got upset. After all, I had all this proof of how my parents didn’t love me, right? They did this and that and that. And what about all my exes? They did this and this and this. It’s obvious that I’m unlove-able, and if anyone pretends to love me, it’s because they want something. Duh!

But as part of the forum activities, I called my parents. I told them I realized they do love me even though I don’t necessarily feel that way. They may not show their love in a way that I recognize, but they gave me life, took me to school, fed and clothed me, that’s called love. I may not always agree with their will for me, but I acknowlegde that they want the best for me. They want me to be happy. So I called them and apologized for all the anger and resentment I’ve been carrying around. I thanked them for loving me, for being my parents.

I expected the confession to have a dramatic effect on my life, but I didn’t feel any different, and I said so at the forum. David Ure – the forum leader – explained it was because I didn’t think my call made any difference. The second he said that, I realized that I use that phrase at least five times a day. I tell myself not to do or say certain things because I’m convinced that nothing I do makes any difference! It’s kept a lot of doors closed in my life. The next day I started doing things even though I thought it ‘wouldn’t make a difference’. By the end of the day, I had gotten a deal that will now earn me an extra 15,000 every month, so yay! All because I made a simple phone call that ‘wouldn’t make any difference’.

I had explained to my daughter that I would be in class all weekend, and on the first night, she woke up to ‘check my homework’ just like I do with her every weekday. On Saturday morning, I woke up to shower and she got out of bed and said she’d fix my breakfast and pack my lunch while I showered, just like I do for her every weekday. These are things I thought made no difference, and I was immensely touched to see that they really did. I spend a lot of time feeling like I’m not a good mother, but after Saturday morning, I’ll never doubt it again. I’m doing okay. In fact, I’m doing fabulous.

I’ve been on a mental  journey the past few weeks, reading Approval Addiction and Conversations with God and reviewing my lessons from Manifesting Change. Yes, I’m New Age. Sort of. There’s been such a difference in me that my princess asked me why I’m in such a good mood. She’s convinced I got a raise or something. Anyway, all my readings said if I wanted to do or be something, all I had to do was pull a Nike and just do it.  Act as if. Fake it till you make it. Even The Secret says if I want to be rich, all I have to do is act like I’m rich, believe it, visualize it, give thanks for it, then sit back and wait for it to happen. It just didn’t tell me how, and that’s immensely annoying. It’s like those people who say ‘When you’re sad, just stop feeling sad and feel awesome instead.’ Where’s the instruction manual?

At the Landmark Forum I learnt how to make things happen. I need to be authentic, choose integrity, and be my word. Here’s how it works. Every time I say I’ll do something, I should make sure I do it. If I keep my promises – all my promises – whether I feel like it ot not – then my word means something and I become my word. If my word can be trusted, then it becomes powerful because whenever I say something, I do it. Whenever I say something, it happens. Then all my ‘wishes’ can come true when I say them! It’s not an easy way to live, but it does work. I promised to make a phone call and I did, even though I didn’t think it would make any difference. That call brought me 15K just like that! Think what other opportunities I could get by simply doing what I said I would do. Anything is possible!

I worry a lot about being late for work, and I wondered why it bothered me so much. After all, I get to the office before everyone else, most days I make it on time, and the few times that I don’t, I’m only ever a few minutes late. Plus, I have a good reason – I have to walk my baby to school!

Here’s the part I didn’t say. I didn’t say I worry so much about being late that every morning, I whine, snap, and argue about how we should hurry up or else! What should be a beautiful bonding process ends up being a trial for both of us. By the time we’re leaving the house, we’re ready to punch each other. Most times we calm down as we walk, I apologize, and we end up giggly and happy by the time I kiss her goodbye at the school gate. Once in a while, she stays mad and the teacher calls to ask why she’s so moody. I don’t get to work on time on purpose. It’s just an accidental routine  that often leaves me pissed off and resentful at everyone from my baby girl to the makanga. I constantly threaten that if she’s not ready in time I’ll leave her behind, even though I know I never will.

After the forum, I sat my baby down. I said I didn’t like the way we fight every morning, and that if we wanted to be early so I could get to work on time, we just had to wake up ten minutes earlier. We agreed that if she wasn’t ready by a certain time, I was free to leave without her, and this time, it wasn’t an empty whiny threat; it was a promise. After all, the school is only ten minutes away, so she can walk on her own quite easily.

I was sure she would be whiny about getting up earlier, but she was so excited she said we should try for fifteen minutes instead, and this morning, for the first time in almost a year, we had fun getting ready for school. On the outside, nothing has changed. I still get to work earlier than everyone else. But inside me, a whole world of possibility is open because I know I’ve chosen to get to work on time, keep my word, and be my word. For a while now, I’ve wondered how I’m going to achieve all my dreams. Now I know. By keeping my promises and being my word, whatever I say will come true! And when I don’t keep my word, I won’t make up excuses, no matter how good they are. I will simply admit that I haven’t done what I said I would, and fix it.

It wasn’t always this clear. For most of the forum, I walked out of the room during breaks convinced I wasn’t coming back. By the last night of the forum, I was so lost and disillusioned that I wanted nothing more to do with it. But I kept coming back because I had made a promise to finish the course, even though I didn’t want to. That’s what is opening all these doors in my life.

One important lesson I’ve learnt is to pay more attention to what happens than to how I interpret it. I have a big problem with that because I have an analytical nature. I’m stuck in questions about who I am, how I got this way, why I am the way I am and so on, and the forum answered all those questions beautifully. But what makes life work is not knowing how you tick. It’s knowing that stuff happens, realizing that you build yourself around how you interpret this stuff … then stopping the interpretations. Or at least ignoring them.

Being sad about a broken glass doesn’t solve the problem, but buying a new glass might. So to make life work, don’t hide inside your thoughts and feelings. Get out into the real world and live! Don’t sit there worrying and panicking and shaking because the glass broke and you’ll get in trouble. Go out and get a new glass! But also, make sure you explain that you broke the glass, that you’re sorry, and that you’ve replaced it. That’s called integrity, and it makes your word count.

What if you don’t have money for a new glass? Work out a system to replace it. Give up one of your own glasses. Wash dishes or run errands for a week in exchange for the broken glass. Give the person a plastic cup instead. Do something! But don’t just sit there crying, worrying and panicking over broken glass. That just leaves you miserable and the person is still missing a glass, so nothing is solved.

I could go on and on and on, but here’s the thing. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. It’s also the last day of this month’s Landmark Forum. At 6.30 p.m. graduates of the Landmark Forum will be at the Hilton Hotel in Nairobi taking our final class, and you can all join in! Come and see what the forum has done for us, and what it can do for you. Don’t worry, the Tuesday session is free, and you get to spend Valentine’s Day at the Hilton, so you really can’t lose.

The session includes an introduction to the Landmark Forum so you can find out what it’s really about. If you’d like to know more, you can call 0722782997. No, that’s not my number *cheeky grin*. I’ll answer what I can in the comments, so if there’s any way I can help, feel free to ask. Oh, also, there’s a website.

Landmark is helping me to make my life work, but unless everyone else’s life gets better as well, then the world stays just the way it is. I like being happy, and I like helping people to be happy. This forum is one way that I can do both, and you can see for yourself that it works. So, tomorrow, 6.30 p.m. at the Hilton, will you be my Valentine? I’m hoping for over 5,000 dates, so bring a lot of friends. The more the better!

♫ Into the Ocean ♫ Blue October ♫

My morning routine includes walking my baby to school, and it’s the best part of my day. She’s often asleep when I get home from work so if I don’t see her in the morning, I won’t see her at all. The ritual is important to both of us, and on the days I’ve had to skip it for an early morning meeting, her teacher has called to ask why she’s so moody and upset.

The only downside with our ritual is it sometimes makes me late for work. Traffic in our hood is so erratic that I get to work anywhere between 7.30 and 9.30, even though I always leave the house at the exact same time. I’ve been late this whole week, and that reflects badly on my record. That and the office lateness rule …

This morning we made it pretty early … but then I realized I’d left my ATM and ID behind. So we had to go back … which cost us about ten minutes. Once I got to town, I had to decide between fruit salad and a doughnut. I picked the unhealthy choice. The salesman convinced me to throw in a chicken pie and Afya Apple Juice. I got to work with barely seconds to spare.

Then I popped my food into the microwave. The plan was to warm the chicken pie. But about 30 seconds in, I noticed the icky brown goo and realized I’d put the doughnut in instead. How now? It was a mushy puddle of sticky white and brown and wasn’t appetizing at all. My first instinct was to throw it away, but I decided to grab a fork and see what wheat flour mush is like. Luckily, it tasted a whole lot better than it looked.

I got back to my desk to make an M-PESA payment. I even wrote it down and sent a text confirming the number. But the recipient made the same mistake that I did – we read what we thought was there. Seconds later, I got a confirmation text with a distinctly alien name. WTF? Luckily Safaricom sorted it out before the damage was done, so phew! Less luckily, I proceeded to key in a second wrong number … this time I noticed it before I hit send, so phew!

I went to M-PESA to make a second deposit, and ED decided if I could be moody, then so could he. He swallowed up the toolkit menu! Stupid Ideos. The agent had deposited the money, but since I had no menu, there was no confirmation on my side. The agent suggested I try putting the phone off and on again. *insert rolling eyes* Since we all know how long an Ideos takes to boot up *insert second set of rolling eyes* she was quite panicked by the time ED had coughed himself awake. But at least the SMS came through. Finally. I treated myself to chocolate and some ice cream, even though my lactose issues will be bugging me for days.

I suppose I should explain. I love milk. I mean, I really love milk. I’ve been known to drink two litres a day. But after 3 decades of excessive consumption, my body had enough. About two years ago, I ended up lactose intolerant. The doctor says the lactase in my system is depleted, so every time I feed myself some milk, butter, cheese, chocolate, ice cream, mala, or Maryland cookies, I experience three days of debilitating cramps. Sometimes they last for just a few seconds, sometimes they go a full three days. I’ve learnt to pace myself, and I even know which brands of lactose aggravate it less. The only thing that gets me is no more Weetabix! Sigh.

             In the middle of my ice cream binge, I bumped into an article about Queen Elizabeth II. It’s her 60th anniversary, so of course it had pictures of her in her 20s. Pictures like that always make me sad. As I look at the shots, I can barely see any resemblance. It’s like looking at two different people. It makes me sad that one day I’ll look into the mirror and wonder where my face went. It would tear me up not to recognoze myself. It’s almost like having alzheimer’s, which is another thing I fear. My mind is my greatest treasure. Losing my memory would have to be the worst form of torture. It’s why I’d like to die at 65.

I’m rereading one of my favourite books, Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch. Each time I read it, I wonder what the purpose of life is. For me, life is about having fun. Yes, I have responsibilities and obligations, but I find it hard to do anything if I don’t enjoy it. I’m blessed to be getting paid to write, which is my first passion. My second is reading, and I’ve neglected it for years. I’m glad to be finally leafing through books again. I had to sacrifice my Twitter time to do it, but in the past two weeks, I’ve done a handful of tweets and read four novels, which feels really good.

I love getting lost in music, and ever since I got my iPod, I can do that 24-7, another blessing that I’m grateful for. And my little girl is growing into a woman, which makes me terribly proud and terribly frightened. But she’s happy and healthy and loved, so we’re just going to play it a moment at a time.

I need to make some changes in my life, some drastic shifts in context, as my good friend Samsam says. So I’m going to take a Landmark class next week. I’m still not sure how I’m going to pay for it, but I’m claiming it by faith. I suppose that’s a strange thing to say seeing as I don’t believe in God. But I do believe in some higher power, and I know it gives us miracles sometimes. See, Samsam gave me advice. He said I should focus on getting the 2K to register first. I had no idea how, but I said cool. The second I put down the phone, I checked my Gmail inbox … and found a new 3K payment from a long forgotten client. Sweet! Since it was money I wasn’t expecting, I used it for my class – thank you George! That’s 2 down, 13 to go.

Meanwhile, rumour has it there shall be an office koroga later. I rarely drink at office parties. In fact, I never drink in public. I have this condition called FODOT. That’s short for Fear of Dancing on Tables. Anyway, the last time I drank at work, it was only because Bharat, Vimal, and Kevin insisted. I had one glass of wine. Well, okay, two half glasses. I ended up confronting a matatu driver for leaving us at the wrong stage, making a phone call on a wobbly River Road [yes, the River Road was wobbling] and threatening to kickbox anyone who tried to grab my Ideos. Please note that it was 9.00 p.m. and I was walking alone. I then got home and cried over the sad thoughts in my head. And that was two half glasses!

So today when I was asked if I ever take alcohol, I said no, and asked for Malta Guiness instead. Or Mountain Dew. I wasn’t really thinking about my answer, because I was twiddling with my phone at the time. But it might not be a bad rule to implement. Usually I only drink at home, with the doors locked and no chance of doing any damage to anyone. My preferred drink is Baileys, because it tastes like chocolate. But because it’s a cream liqueur, it affects me pretty much the same way ice cream does. I don’t get hung over. I’m just stuck in bed with cramps for the next three days. So, starting today, I am teetotaller, both in public and in private. It’s safe, it’s healthy, and it sets a good example. Besides, what’s the worst thing that could possibly happen?

♫ What goes around  ♫ Justin Timberlake ♫