All men are…

Once again I am disillusioned with relationships. I just found out that a man I respect and admire greatly is, after all, just a man. Sigh.

Said man has been married to my friend for ten years, and they have four beautiful babies, two boys and two girls. He lives in shags where he has a good job, while she lives in nai with the kids. They agreed on this because the kids can get access to better schools in Nai. It was a mutual decision, and he visits them whenever he can. They were, to me, the ideal couple.

In the last few weeks, several women have called my friend up, and contacted her on email and facebook, claiming that she is messing with their man, and that she better step because they are not going to give him up.

She is shocked and traumatised, because, 1. She is his legal wife 2. She has never suspected him of being unfaithful 3. The women have proof of their liasons 4. It is a mixed marriage, and the man’s family approves of these other women, since they are from acceptable tribes 5. The man is not denying it.

When the first woman called, the man mollified his wife and swore he’d end the three-year affair. When the second woman showed up, just days later, the man told his wife to do whatever she wants. He’s not fighting it anymore.

Apparently, the side-dishes are now fighting each other. They all know that he is married, and he made it clear from day 1 that he loves his wife and will not leave her. So the other women have been attacking each other, and when that proved unsuccesful, they turned on the wife. That’s when shit hit, and now my friend is in a state.

The saddest thing is I keep thinking, if this man can cheat, then really, who can be faithful? He says, like many men do, that he loves his wife, and that the affairs are just [longlasting] meaningless flings. He doesn’t even consider it cheating, it’s just scratching an itch, consistently, for a really long time. Everyone does it, he says. That’s why he continues to sleep around yet refuses to leave his wife.

Conventional wisdom says that when your partner cheats, you must have driven them to it. The cheatee must have something that you don’t. They must be providing something that you are not, and that makes it your fault.

But what if the cheatee really is just an itch? What if your partner loves your height and is temporaily tempted by somebody shorter? Or taller? Or darker? Or lighter? Someone with a softer voice, or a louder voice? How do you fight that? And what if, being an itch, they hide the scratcher really really well? How do we tell the difference between an expert hider and a true partner?

If this guy could cheat on that scale and never get caught, then which wife/girlfriend or for that matter husband/boyfriend is safe? All those guys who I thought were real men, maybe they just haven’t been caught yet. Sigh. This sucks.

In related news.

I never did quote that verse in Isaiah [or one of the other major prophets … Jeremiah maybe? Or Ezekiel] that says six women will fight for one man. They will say ‘You don’t have to take care of us or our children, we only want your name’. It’s listed as a sign of the endtimes, together with that ish about getting branded with 666 signs on your forehead or wrist, and not being able to buy or sell without ‘the mark’.

A lot of religious types have theorised about this stuff for ages. I don’t know what theories are real or fake, but I read them and get intrigued. The most popular theory is that the 666 sign will be put on your forehead or wrist via microchip. Theorists say that because, logically, an electronic scanner can check your wrist or head for a barcode-type chip which will let you trade, just like a credit card. It’s a common feature in all futuristic movies and books.

A week or so ago there was an article in the paper about how people are being jacked and forced to drive around with thugs for several days while the thugs empty their accounts via timed ATM withdrawals.You are forced to divulge your pin, then held until your account is dry.

A writer suggested one way to defeat this is to have our ATM codes imbedded into our skin via a chip, so that you have to physically be present to withdraw cash. He suggested that a thug might cut off your finger or wrist and use it to access the cash, lakini the ATM readers can be programmed to read live cells only, so would reject the dead cells in a mutilated body part…

I’m just saying.

When the current pope was being selected, Hal Lindsey of CBN released some prophecy from the 1100s that allegedly listed all the popes from that time till the end of the world. The prophecy stated a bunch of uncannily accurate titbits, including a suggestion that the current pope would be a benedictine. Something about olives and wine, I forget the exact words. That was a week before the pope was selected and chose the name Benedict. There’s also something about three olive trees on his pre-popal gear, I’ve no idea.

It went on to say he would be a transitional pope who would not ‘rule’ for very long [hehehehe, it’s been, what, 5 years now?] and that the pope who takes over from him will be the last. The final pope will allegedly take the name Peter. Again, I’m just saying.

The Anti-christ is supposed to rise after a time of economic breakdown [kinda like a global recession?] and turn the world around into a thriving haven of peace and prosperity. So, me, I’m waiting for the turnaround. When this recession ends and suddenly all’s well with the world and some iconic international figurehead shows up claiming victory, I’m going to buy a 7 year hourglass and a scientific calculator. I’m just saying.

Thinking about stuff like that scares me, in a sense. I’m a believer, so I’m not really afraid for me, except of course for the torture that is prophesied for believers. I’m totally chicken when it comes to pain.

What frightens me is my little girl. Does she share my faith? Does she believe what I believe? Can I help her to believe what I believe? I don’t go to church, my faith isn’t about people or buildings, it’s something I know in my heart. Can I teach that to her? Can I make her think like me?

There’s a verse in Revelations that says the good will go on being good, and the evil will go on being evil. The way the world is now, it’s hard to convince anyone to believe in God unless they already do. That’s what makes me afraid for my little girl. I already believe in God, but does she?

Will she ever grow up and marry and have kids of her own? Will she live to see teenage? Will I grow old? Will I ever find my soulmate? And if I do, will I believe him when he pledges himself to me? Will my trust be justified?

Do all these plans I have for the future matter? Dreams of Sasha the Red, of buying my dream penthouse, of saving for my little girl’s college, of starting my first major investment, of moving from mainstream employment and into my side-hustle … will any of this come true? Does it even matter?

I’m not about to sell all my possessions and find a bunker, I already have my Bible. I’m just wondering if there’s a point to any of this, that’s all. I am realising that we are at a place where now is all that matters. Where the things I do here, the thoughts I think today, well, they could be it. Because tomorrow, there might be someone at my door waving one of those anti-terrorist electronic swipe thingies and asking me to show him my mark.

I’m just saying…

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Burning out in 3…2…

I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to scream. I want to go and sit quietly in a corner by myself, shut my eyes, and let music take me away. But I can’t. I want to hug a certain someone, because he’s warm and kind and his arms are big and strong, and he always makes me feel safe and protected, like everything will be fine. But I can’t have that either, because Joe is too far away.

I’m at work, and I’m burnt out.

My boss adores me. He says I have limitless amounts of energy. That means no matter how much work he gives me, I will do it, and I will do it well. And I will do it without [much] complaint. Sometimes, when it gets too much, I will throw a tantrum. I have done that just twice in three years, so he knows it will pass.

But not today. Today, I am finished.

For the last two months, I have worked from 8.00 a.m. to 8.00 p.m. Sunday to Sunday. My child has seen so little of me that she has suggested I quit my job and go teach at her school so that she can see me more. She said she wishes I could get sick at work, so that I have an excuse to come home and hang out with her. She is only six.

I have worked long hours before, but not like this. In my line of work, we do this two or three times a year. We rush to meet deadlines during submission season, so for a few weeks at a time, we work all out, just like we are doing now. But this time, it’s just too much.

My gummi-juice is drying up, my reservoir is kaput. I’m so tired I can’t sleep, I just lie in bed with my body and mind sore, unable to function, unable to think, almost unable to breathe. I’m spent.

But I love my work. I’m committed to it. And I love my baby. So I keep pushing. I keep saying one more day, one more week, one more project then I can rest.

Last week I talked to my boss. I told him I was utterly exhausted, and that I needed a break. He said I could take two weeks early in August. That was it. That gave me drive. Each time I felt like collapsing, too tired to eat or chat or even to tweet, I told myself two more weeks, just two more weeks and I’m free! It’s all that’s been keeping me going.

Today is Friday. It has been decreed that we are not leaving this office till the project is done. Leo, hakuna kurara. My baby is pissed but I tell myself ‘two more weeks, just two more weeks’.

Then my boss called me. New project. It’s six months long, but they need it in one. He knows I can do it. He knows I will do it, simply because I’m me. He says he will give me whatever motivation I require [and he says it with confidence because he knows I won’t extort him. How I wish I had it in me to extort him!!]

He says I can have a month off, two months even, but only after I am done. He knows that by that time, our window slump will be gone, there will be other projects to be done, so no holidays for me. He knows that I choreographed my holiday keenly and carefully, because I knew it was the only time I could safely get away before next March. And he knows I will perform regardless, because I am me.

Except I’m not me, not anymore, at least not today. I’m finished. It’s taking all I am just to type this. I haven’t got the edge to handle this, I haven’t got the drive. I haven’t even got the time. What I’ve been using is borrowed. The only reason I haven’t crashed is because I was vice-gripped to the promise of those two weeks. So even the month he has promised after, I cannot see or feel it. For me, it’s nothing.

Lately I’ve been thinking about my faith. I love my God,and I want to live for Him, but I never do. There’s no reason for it, no excuse, no deep-seated psychological generational demon or anything. It’s just something I desperately want to do, but just can’t seem to.

I’ve made a new friend. He’s lovely and sweet and smart, and he teaches me something new every day. He’s deep and wise, and I’ve no idea how he got that way. But he helps me when I’m lost in my faith, and he doesn’t even know it. I value him a lot. I was talking to him yesterday, and I got so many lessons. I was going to say his name, but he’s really very private and he might get mad. Plus I don’t think he reads my blog. Just in case you do, you are one cool brother, and I’m very glad I met you.

Anyway, so thanks to this new friend, I got an insight. I prayed for the desire to love and serve my God. I prayed for the hunger, the thirst, the intense desire that will make me pursue belief with the zest it requires. I prayed for a miracle, an invitation to faith.

I’ve had lots of miracles in my life already. Enough to know that God is on my side, that He works in my life, and either I’m really really lucky, or he really really likes me. I know that He provides for me. He gives me everything I need in the very moment when I need it. His provision has ranged from a cheap house next to my office to a bonus to pay my baby’s school fees to a beautiful unknown career to the courage [and the necessary burst of adrenaline] to leave an abusive marriage. So why is it that I still doubt?

Because my God is dramatic. He likes things last minute. He likes to push us to the very edge of insanity before He pulls us back. He likes to take the Israelites right up to the Red sea before he parts it, or to push his son right to the very edge of despair, until the child cries ‘My Father, why have you forsaken me’ then he whispers ‘My child, it is finished’ and gives sweet release.

He likes to take me right up to the deadline, when I’m tugging at my hair and the landlord is banging at my door before I get the call that my money has come through. I don’t know why He operates like that, but he does, and it builds my faith. Well, it should. Instead, it fills me with doubt.

So I prayed for the courage to believe, and to keep on believing, no matter what. And then today happened. Perhaps this is my answer. Perhaps this is how I shall plant my kernel of faith. Perhaps this is my proverbial defining moment, when I finally truly realise what He is to me.

For the longest time I have wanted to hustle, to work freelance, to quit the rat race grind, But I am afraid to. I don’t know where to start. A few days back, my baby got so upset that I asked my boss to let me take my work home so I could be with her, he agreed. Best day ever. It strengthened my need to work on my own. Not for the money, not for the freedom, not for the space. Just to spend more time with my little girl.

This week I have seen so many freelance opportunities. I don’t know why they are coming now, or if they have been here all along and I just didn’t see them. I even got a side gig that paid in advance. How cool is that? But I’m so exhausted that I can barely hack it. I’ve applied for a bunch of those gigs, but I don’t know if I’ll get them. And even if I do, with my day job being what it is, I may not have the strength to fulfill them. I believe in signs and symbols, and this may be my time, but I don’t know … why now, in the very thick of timelessness and scheduled madness?

If I get my side job done in time, if I make it through this day, through this week, through my boss’ project, it will not be because of me. It will not be because of my talent or my intelligence or my competence. It will not be because of my endless bubbles and my boundless energy. It will be pure unadulterated providence. Coz I’ve soaked my wick with tears, crumbled it and bled it dry. My fire is gone, quenched beyond redemption. This candle is utterly, totally and completely burnt out. Father, please take me home.

I am thankful for my weakness, because it is only when I am weak that I can see my Jesus’ strength. Thank JC, and be blessed.

CreedOne last breath

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Breaking down

The strangest thing happened today. I crashed, and I have no idea why.

The day started great, I was ridiculously happy for no particular reason, all giggling and dancing and rocking away, planning to finish the fifty pages of editing that was my target for the day. I was sure I’d be through by three.

Then we had some crazy staff meeting that took half the day, and I got some stupid text message that upset way more than it should have. Maybe it’s a culture thing, maybe some people are slow, maybe I’m just more &^&*%^*(&^ than I thought, but for whatever reason, I got upset. Very upset.

At first I was so mad that I sat completely still, shaking on the inside. Then it all came out and I ranted at anything in reach, mostly chat, twitter and email. Then I felt a wave of ‘Nobody understsands me, nobody sees why I’m mad’. Actually, even I couldn’t really see why I was mad, so I went back and ‘rubbed’ all the tweets. Yeah, I know.

Then I charanted some more to a pal who was probably staring at his screen doing the SMHW thing, asking himself how he made friends with this nutcase. One brave soul [and how I love this boy] actually came out and said ‘Crys, you’re being crazy, calm down’. Yes, I do sometimes need some people to grab me by the shoulders and shake me back to sanity. Note that I say some people – because if certain other people tried that, they would swiftly lose a few teeth.

Anyway I went to the bathroom, locked myself in and cried until my chest hurt. And prayed. I have no idea what I was praying for, but as I sat in there with my heart breaking for no reason I could understand, I prayed. I still had no idea why I was so upset mind you.

Then I came back to my desk for the customary quiet. Because everytime I lose my temper, I’m left with this sickly vacuum, I feel deadly quiet, calm, empty. I hate that feeling, that still sadness. It hurts more than any emotion I possess.

Then I started to curse myself, to wonder why I have to be such an ass about everything, why I have to get so unreasonably pissed about stuff, why I take certain things so personally, why I feel like I have to explain the inexplicable to the people I care about, and why I get hurt when they can’t understand me, even though i know that I am clearly impossible to understand. Loveable yes, but utterly incomprehensible.

Then I heard this song and just like that, it all went away.

You’re worth so much
It’ll never be enough
To see what you have to give
How beautiful you are
Yet seem so far from everything
You’re wanting to be
You’re wanting to be

Tears falling down again
Tears falling down

You fall to your knees
You beg, you plead
Can I be somebody else
For all the times I hate myself?
Your failures devour your heart
In every hour, you’re drowning
In your imperfection

You mean so much
That heaven would touch
The face of humankind for you
How special you are
Revel in your day
You’re fearfully and wonderfully made
You’re wonderfully made

Tears falling down again
Come let the healing begin

You fall to your knees
You beg, you plead
Can I be somebody else
For all the times I hate myself?
Your failures devour your heart
In every hour, you’re drowning
In your imperfection

You’re worth so much
So easily crushed
Wanna be like everyone else
No one escapes
Every breath we take
Dealing with our own skeletons, skeletons

You fall to your knees
You beg, you plead
Can I be somebody else
For all the times I hate myself?
Your failures devour your heart
In every hour, you’re drowning
In your imperfection

Won’t you believe, yeah
Won’t you believe, yeah
All the things I see in you

You’re not the only one
You’re not the only one
Drowning in imperfection

Imperfection by Skillet

There are days when I doubt the existence of God, but then I pray, and I hear a song sung straight for my heart, and I know that I can never doubt.

Thank you JC, you’re the best.

And thank you W, D and J for letting me be me, and for loving me for me. You are probably not going to read this, but you are my rocks and I would be lost without you. For you I reserve endless love and hugs from the deepest part of my silly little heart. Group hug, heehee. (((You)))

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