I've been trying to murder a part of me, albeit unconsciously. It's painful to accept that that's what I've been up to but it is exactly what I’m doing. I've been squelching my writing side. It's annoying...really annoying. I can’t remember the last time I stringed two words together. Two words o!  Whatever happened to that desire of becoming a writer, a full-time one at that, is what I can’t just puzzle out now.  How I used to dream of being in a room, furnished to taste but with lots of books, correct internet access, crumpled papers and of course, my pen, note pad, laptop and common sense.  Twenty-four hours, seven days! How dumb I must have been. God!

You know what? I love God. He loves me too. In fact, He loved me first. He loved me so much that He impregnated me with this writing thing. Did I say that? That's how you know I can't write simple ‘psss’ as things stand now, I can't find words to just capture my feeling. Yes, He impregnated me with this baby I've been trying to kill ('abort' does not just capture the feeling). This is it: I don't want to write but it comes to me. Like an unsatisfied lover. You don’t gerrit?  The mere feeling of putting draft pieces (which I'm growing a cemetery for on Tobby, my long time mini-lappy-friend) gives me satisfaction but I don't get to finish those pisses. Shouldn’t that be ‘pieces’? Rewind and fix the right word, pleeeaaease. Why I don't finish those pieces, I can't still figure out but their ghosts and the spirits of the ones yet unborn (which I'll definitely not finish) have been haunting me. Truth be told, I'm sick.

I AM SICK.

I hate drugs; I've not been thinking drugs. Been thinking mum's meals, the hot, spicy ones (when unaffected by recession, I mean) and what miracles they can work more than anti-malaria. How I miss home? 

I AM HOMESICK.

I am sick. But something says mum's food will do nothing. The same thing says writing this may be of help. Its per second shouts of ‘write…write…write', I’m beginning to think, is my headache and cold.

Here I am indulging a feeling I have consistently squelched, I hope I get well soon. 

But I must not fail to say it, by the way, that I HATE WRITING. 

But you love it

No, I hate it.

Yes, I love it. And I hope the pains it, alongside work-stress and my students, have brought stops altogether this night. My students need me back tomorrow morning.

I wish me a speedy recovery.



2 comments:

Nice piss or is it piece now? Get well soon.

Haha... Let's call it 'piss-piece' na. I'm doing great now. Thanks for reading, OEJ. Do come around some other time.

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