meaningful ramblings

I am not confused. Infact, in the past few days i have been beset with seemingly endless moments of absolute clarity. I have been blessed with the ability to dissect a situation into micro moments, each one leading to the other, and understanding. Hearing the words not being said. The German will probably put it down to our just having completed "Lie to Me". I'd say its not. I find that recently I can dissociate myself from my emotions. Like completely cut-off. I believe I have Tili to thank for this. Tili, beloved alter ego. TILI : I am Tili. The side that comes out only at parties and I have moved in for a while. Exactly when, i do not know. and frankly, dont care. I dont hate men. Far from it. I love them and would fuck in a heartbeat because i'm convinced that is all they are good for. I see through all the bullshit, pretend to be Abi for tenderness (when it is required), and find the truth. I see past the 'i want to know you and care for you" right th...

Its tuesday again and seeing as Ive decided to make this a tradition, here I am, falling asleep at my desk, giving you a free pass into my mind. For all of the duration of this post, of course. ~~Firstly, if my tweets for the last few days have been anything to go by, i'm slightly obsessesed with sex at the moment. Its not my fault. I listened to Sex Therapy rmx and Reverse Cowgirl on the same day. its left an indelible mark~~ ~not too certain indelible was the appropriate word. or that my spelling of appropriate is correct~~ ~i'm really craving a mojito. like this very moment. Same way i'm craving the oppurtunity to "put my arms in the air, wave 'em round and go aaaahhh, eeeh, aaah uuu" ~i should stop listening to this song. its been on repeat since yesterday. I've been like "giddy up, giddy up" to PSB. who btw has declared his intention to inspect my body parts~ ~actually that may have been my fault *insert cheeky grin here* afte...

I feel particularly silly doing this. Actually its not Tuesday thinking, duh! its just lil' (well not so little me) thinking. My thoughts are sometimes kinda random. But I've seen something like this on Londondiva's blog and i enjoyed it immensely. So here we go. ~i'm thinking now that i've forgotten all the things i wanted to write in this post~ ~mtn should rallly stop sending me text messages in the middle of the night. i acknowledge that I used up one free day of BIS (i'm thinking this sentence structure is wrong) but does that mean they have to start hounding me?~ ~i'm not all that interested in politics. i dont read the paper, ok, hardly. so why do these hotel people keep shoving them beneath my door at 7am, managing to wake me up when i never plan to be up until 7.05~ ~lagos is incredibly dusty. I heard the acid rain gist and i'm wondering what the appropriate covering for my car would be...hmm..what is acid resistant? perhaps I should ha...

I've never believed in fairies. Or by extension, fairytales. Hogwash. Never yearned for pink ballgowns or a dream prince either. My childhood fantasies were made of swatches of color and yarn and cashmere. Of pelt and plume. And music. And revolving doors and responsibility. Of books, ooh. Nothing beats the smell of a new book. But things change. Black and white often replaces color and gray becomes chic. We exchange fur for something less gratifying to accord to political correctness and social acceptabilty. And the music suffers. We forget the heart and soul and create popularity. True art, forgotten for the mundane. The less conspicuous. As children, we are led to believing that an outcast although no less unique than the pureblood is ...how shall I say, unacceptable. Forgetting that therein lies the problem. Believing that because something is not like the other, does not automatically imply or establish for that matter, that it is less. I am an accountant. With a fantastic min...

Its Mother's Day, so Happy Mother's Day to my mother and yours. I didnt need to look for inspiration to write this one.Afterall she's been there for all my entire two decades plus. I love my mama. For everytime she threw a broom at me and for everytime she hugged me. I love her for every time she kissed my father and for every time she frowned at him. I love her for the invaluable lessons she taught me. Some made me fat (waste not, want not) and others made strive (the only person who can make you is you). Growing up, mama didnt spare the rod (hated her for it then, evil witch) even for her golden child (me, of course). I remember one day when I was about 11 when I skivved off after school lesson to go hang out at a friend's house. Actually i'd asked for her permission but she said no. I went anyways. Then she sent the driver to pick me up after school and take me there. The driver got to my school and I wasnt there. Feeling like a smart child, I went back befor...

its only ever been you. I know how saying this might seem incongruous to you dear reader, pitiful perhaps, but see it as you must. Saying stuff like that might imply that you have been with someone for eons. But when you've had years of something different, one other thing seems like a lifetime. Perhaps therein lies my favourite question, "where were we before our lives began?". This life not as you would think it to be, say perhaps the existence of breath in one's lungs. But the life which you start when u feel something in you has changed. That point when you feel something is different. Lest I stray too far from my course, hold on tight. I am lying in my bed, naked and its past midnight. I'd put the time to be somewhere close to 1am, due to the number of times the generator has gone on and off. Yeah #lightupnigeria. Anyways I'm here struggling for sleep and just before I drift off, the words "its always been you" came to my mind. And I have this u...

It is 9.30pm in the city of Lagos as I walk down the steps of my office building on the way to the parking lot. Outside the sky is like black satin with occasional flashes of lightning in the distance signaling the coming of rain to the island. As I settle into my car, I am grateful to God for this night, like every other night. For although I have seen over eight thousand nights in my lifetime, each one is different from the last, and each one ushers in a better morning. Each night tells a different story, some days the stories are funny and other days the stories are serious. Some days, the stories are wistful and filled with longing, and other days the stories are hurried. But in every night are some things that do not change. For at night I can see what others may never see and hear what others may never hear. I see the weathered faces of the gatemen and their relief because at last they can rest their tired bones. In my imagination, I see the mischief on the face of the white cat ...