like i said

my darling eddy,

i know that i would rather believe a lie. i want to believe it and i will believe it.
two months ago Mabel, you know, the girl i go to the gym with who has also become my best friend. a sweet person she is, totally harmless, and frail in so many ways, even in the way her brows lift and the light way she laughs. she reminds me of myself before i gained all this weight.

she is adorable. and yet so together, the gym being the only place we concile in the worlds of weight. shes as tinny as a tooth pick and i wonder, Ed, why the gym is her haven... for what?
oh Eddy, from fear. the fear of being beaten again by her husband. she goes for boxing classes and kunfu.
well Mabel is not the issue here. but we have been hanging alot for quite sometime now and her infectious laugh continues to amaze me, at how light she can be even with an eye darkened by continual backhand slaps that she's gotten. her pretty face young and fresh has aged in weeks ,in months
and she is beginning to wear out but her eyes her laugh her smile...are etched in my mind....at how beautiful her soul is and i am buffled that he hits her.
i am stunned to think a man like that does not see the gem he has.the woman she is,a hard worker, a perfect cook, a wonderful housewife, a gentle loving dove, a woman men at the gym continually try to charm. and in their eyes i see their yearning; to hold her, protect her, love her better than her husband. the seem to see her pain but they don't know how to break through the shell shes created. a soft bubble about her that wont prick when you try to get close, no. it simply pushes you off and you still love her in spite of you...even when she is out of reach.
i see them mile around her like ravens, and she's kind and sweet but they get no where.
the issue like i said isn't about Mabel.
its about us.
today, i decided to move on Eddy love.
i admire Mabel for being strong and loving her man, but i cant handle the pain, or the bitterness growing and changing me within that i cant define who i am anymore.
yes i cant cook, no icant be as nice to your friends as you want. i am not the perfect housewife and you knew you were getting that when we got married.
i wanted to give my best but you kept blowing my efforts. i got fat
you said i was lazy and careless. no
i was depressed and tired of you not loving me for me and loving an image of me you created. the me you were in love with and when you took those coloured glasses off, i was there, before you. just me.
no imagery, no illusion
no fantasy dream
just me. and now, the blackness evades my heart, the gangrene eats deeper and i feel sicker, i cant keep living this way and i must go on. get away from you.

well Mabel is totally sweet, i told you and i ache for her now even as i Write you this note, i got a call earlier that was the focal point of this little missive. Mabel, called me and for the first time she broke down. i was taken aback,
she never cried telling me her pain. now she did
she told me she was on her way to the hospital alone.
blood was oozing from her left leg,
a green stick fracture. he hit her so hard she fell over the living room accessory and some how got the injury
i cried with her all the way. she said she was tired
she wasnt strong enough to fight back
but she vented her fight, crying retching and cursing. my beautiful Mable never cursed
but she did.
l mourned with her... then something went wrong.
she was losing it...control of the wheel. there was noise, commotion, then

nothing.
i am still devastated. i know she was on the road to _______ hospital, and i need to see that she is okay because i sensed the accident. the impact numbed me.

i dont want that happenning to me
so i am leaving you Eddy, my love.
i need a doze of sobriety restored within. i need to start all over again.

Katey

when it hurts so bad

The cold clammy drops of yesterday’s heavy downpour fall in a slow rhythmic pattern on my bare arm
Drip
Drip
Drip
Its funny how annoying this usually can be
But today
Today is different.
Today my body burns hot, hot. A seering heat that blazes from my soul and envelopes me like the stinging pain from a freshly pinched throbbing ear.
The drops, cool, harsh, seem to seep into my soul fanning the burning heat within.
I sit there on the front porch of my house embracing both the inky night and its chilly breeze, allowing my soul to vent. My fingers trace their path through my tangled hair, jabbing gently with their tips to get to the roots and I am wondering when I will visit the salon.
Nothing does matter now,
Not now
Maybe tomorrow.
Today was not good.
Not good at all.
I found out Keriko was cheating on me.
Well, not technically.
It’s just that I am not over him even long after the break up and both our decisions that it was best for either of us.
He isn’t over me either and it’s been four months.
It’s just his technique of ‘moving on’ as fast as possible with whomever.
I wish I could be happy for him but it hurts and burns like a caterpillar rash
And all the scabs keeping in the healing wound can’t contain this blow. It’s opening afresh.
I can smell the coppery odor of blood as my soul’s scabs tear open.
It smarts!
It burns like pepper in my eyes.
I’m trying not to cry but I can’t help it. And it does not come easy either. My soul has no voice to express my tortured lament, so with every heave, my eyes brim over and fresh hot hot tears escape from the throbbing wound within
Soundlessly
Today was not a good day.
I brush my temples with the back of a heated hand and squeeze my eyes tight shut. The lids hurt with the fatigue of holding in so much. Laden with pent up grief and the scabs tear further releasing a fresh volt of pent up emotion that willfully roll down my face in clear salty tears.
The drops from the old pipe ceaselessly wet my arm, competing with each other drop after drop to maintain moisture on my heated arm.
Finally I inhale deeply, sucking the hot air in my soul. I am startled and shocked at the magnitude of heat pain produces as I let it out shakily.
I clasp my neck and test for what I am sure is already there,, the feverish sensation- the onset of something I dreaded.
The drops become chillingly cold- almost painful—I still welcome them. Maybe my body wont heed to this rudimentary torture, but my soul..oh my battered soul will surely scab again.

would you

would you mind if i told you
if i toldyou what am about to tell you
wouldyou mind?
would you mind if i told you what iam about to tell you
and tolds you what am about to tell you
would you mind? would you mind it would youmind that i told you what iam about to tell you would you mind?
would you let me tell you what i think you wouldmind me telling you?
would you mind?
maybe you would
maybe i shouldnt tell you

pieces of yesterday

I have been running so far. So fast and so hard from anything that reminded me of you, the friends we shared…I haven’t called them in months. Maybe they understand
Maybe not. I find myself past caring, Rex, your high school best friend texted me two days ago. He wanted to know how I was. I could not tell him I had taken leave onthe pretext of looking after my pregnant sister who is in Hawaii as I write but life seemed to have slipped from my fingers and left me cold and empty.
I could not tell our good friends that I have been lying on the soft brown leather couch that we used to huddle in and play scrabble for the past two weeks now; drinking milkshakes and gorging up obscene lumps of chocolate and now and again when my willpower is gone, tots of whiskey and wine….
After the mad binge is over, I stare blankly at the TV screen and almost spontaneously the tears start to flow. I don’t sniff or wipe them out. They seem to be excess pain that could not settle within the broken cracks of my festering heart. A clammy cold heart,,, and the feeling flows like goo down to my numb feet.

I lie down again, belch and feel sick of the mingled cocktail of alcohol, chocolate and milk rising up my tight throat.

I wish I could cry
Bawl out like a baby
But
My breast is heavy and sick; empty of anything real and beautiful.
I am terribly aware of how hopeless I feel. Alone and trapped within a shell called pain. It feels strange; why can’t I seem to break out of it?
I am afraid my pastor will start to call or text. I have not been to church in a long while. Not since it happened.
I could not forget it. That awful day
And I blame myself.
‘I should have seen it coming…’
‘I shouldn’t have trusted him to…’
‘how could I be so stupid to believe…
‘why is this happening to me….’
‘when will the hurting stop….’
My bible lies atop a box of chocolates.
I vaguely hear common sense warn me to watch my weight, believe God for the best, all things happen for a reason and I will get broke soon.
I wish I could care… but I don’t.
Out of force of habit, I pick up that old familiar bible and for the first time in weeks , a part of me suddeny lungs forward for a strange feeling of comfort that spreads widely within the hollow of the deep wound
My mind mauls through some of the scriptures I can remember through the vague distorted haze in my mind. I can barely understand it.
I badly want to sleep.
Sleep until all this is over so I can wake up free from the numbness but a tiny part of me relishes that elusive moment. My emotions travel through the pain, feeling its intensity so hard it shocks me.
The emptiness within me bars me from saying anything flowerier than the truth I feel now;
‘I need you to love me now. Don’t ask me to try coz I am so helpless. I can’t even pray. I just want to be honest. I want the pain to go away’ and in this truest moment with my maker, I realize I have never been as real or spoken so real a prayer as this.Suddenly the cold exterior of my broken heart seems to tear open and a pool of pain

a job seeker's bane

She stepped into the reception area quite clumsily in an effort to dodge any raindrops that may soil her over worn suite. As she shook her umbrella, she was extremely aware of the eyes from behind the desk that summed her up into quite a small unit. However, she chose not to be intimidated.
Squaring her small shoulders and patting her rather thick hair down absently, she matched up to the desk, a charming smile coated her faintly glossed lips.
“Good morning, madam,” she managed politely and stated her reason for her call that morning. the receptionist raised her exquisitely cut brows, glanced at her boredly in one sweeping glance and languidly, as if not to mess her freshly manicured nails, picked the phone and placed a call to her boss.
Anne did not burge, she had met many receptionists and secretaries like this before, snobbish and without a trace of customer care. She had heard rumours that most times they were sleeping with the boss and a new girl, better looking than them would pose a real threat. She was determined not to be ousted if she finally got this job. she’d looked around for far too many, gone for numerous interviews only to have them make her unfulfilled promises or worse still hound her down for dinner, coffee and sex eventually. She was sick of it all.
“You can go in,” the receptionist’s voice was lazy as she made another sweeping with her hand to the door she should go through. Anne walked to the door warily and knocked, then turned the doorknob to usher herself into a plush spacious office. The scent in the room was a blend of some masculine perfume-designer, she supposed- mingled with the faint odour of polished furniture. Her eyes fell on the huge man behind the desk.
“Come in, come in,” he urged her in a faint British accent, without looking up. She imagined he had been brought up in a well to do family that had spent most of his early years abroad and now Britain was oozing out of him. “Please have a seat,” he added, still not looking up.
“Thank you,” Anne replied carefullyseating herself in the chair in front of his desk. finally, he looked up and seemed for a fleeting moment to pause as if studying her then quickly address her. “I’ve been looking through your CV and it is very impressive, I must say…” she nodded, made a few comments accordingly throughout the whole assessment but was oddly aware of the fact that his eyes seemed to roam over her in an unusual manner. It made her feel almost naked.
Suddenly, he asked her something that got her suspicious and guarded. “Are you seeing someone?”
She frowned, “my CV states my status, sir”
“Yes, it says single but single could mean attached” as he clasped his hands together, her eyes caught the sparkle of a wedding band on his marriage finger. She raised her brow slightly; deeply disappointed that this was yet another of them men that felt they could get favours in exchange for a job. She pitied the woman that was bound to him in matrimony.
“I am single, sir,” she stubbornly stated with a finality in her voice. He seemed slightly daunted but covered it up.
“Well,” he sighed, “you do have all the qualities this firm needs and also the fact that you’re single is an added advantage. You see, there will be a number of out of Kampala engagements and being attached would make it pretty hard for you.”
He paused slyly, “if you have any questions, please…” he trailed off.
“No sir,” she replied, looking back at him.
He smiled faintly, “well, then…” he stood up and walked round to her. In his hand, he held a small paper… his business card. “There is more we need to discuss but I am held up now, what about later on today over coffee, hmm?”
She frowned deeper, “I…I thought we had discussed everything?”
“Yes, almost…” he remarked as though tired of her incessant defiant remarks. “Nevertheless, there is some more I need to discuss with you. Coffee or dinner?” he asked unashamedly handing her the card.
She cleared her throat, now sure, where this was heading. “I’ll think about it.”
“You don’t have much time, about ten hours. Do call me at lunch and let me know.” he added. She stood up “thank you sir for your time.
“You’re welcome. Do call and call me Mike, drop the ‘sir’ formality, it makes me feel old” he humored. She pursed her lips.
“Have a good day,” he continued charmingly, leading her to the door, “a pretty girl like you deserves one.”
Utterly disgusted, she almost run out of the firm. Tears welled up in her eyes as the whole episode replayed in her mind.
Her heart sunk and broke for his wife and herself. She ripped the card in her hand into many pieces as she had done many times before, thinking how nice it would have been to be an assistant in such a place, but not at such a price. Pangs of sadness, remorse and regret jabbed at her, was this the fate of every job seeker?

the waiting

there is a waiting man, standing,

then turning.

he seems uncertain of his next move.

the morning is early, way too early to be confused.

then i shrug.

its easy for me to think so.

I've got stacks of work on my desk, a mug of hot creamy coffee before me and the newspaper___

I'm turning it over browsing through the commercial page, nonchalantly.

my favourite page because it makes me look more important than i know i am.

i love this cafe. most especially this seat by the window.

weekday mornings are such a joy-stealer; coffee in this spot is all i can do to get warmed up to face my desk, my boss, my boring life.

today may be different.

the man, perks up my curiosity.

he is standing a few feet from my window but i can tell from the rather anxious look on his face that he is waiting for something or someone...

i could profile him...

I've got an hour before office officially opens.

where's my pen?

note pad?

i can tell he is waiting, looking at his watch at intervals of 2 to 3 minutes. the paper in his hand is a charade of his real intention at this spot. he just doesn't want anybody snooping in his business.

no one would anyway, everyone is dashing through the slight drizzle to get to the familiar safety of their work place.

maybe away from the screaming kids, a lousy hubby or a terrible housemate. but he is not running from that. he is trying to find his way back___

retrace his steps in a direction where he missed it

what?

he walks to the table, directly next to me. only the the glass between us , makes us total strangers. he pauses as if to sit but glances at his watch again and seems to think twice about it.

he is turning again. his eyes sad and distant. his soul in an emotional limbo, then he pulls out his phone, stashed away in his trench coat pocket...a beautiful masculine piece...

a message.

"can't make it, Tcherrie. will call you"

and i watch his face. his jaws get taut for a split second. his slightly callous fingers smother the phone as if asserting his masculinity over it. then his hold relaxes and his face softens

in a sad despondent mode, he raises the phone and punches a few numbers- then thinks about it...

and we glance at our watches simultaneously.

its time to go.

and the coldness of the day uncannily edges deeper into my soul.

i swallow my last drops of coffee and get up. he gets up too. i cast him a sympathetic glance and realise he is watching me too..

he knows i know.

we seem to communicate, beyond the cold glass

and his eyes speak back. it will be okay

i smile faintly, reassurringly, as i shoulder my limp bag, i hope she calls

thi s is like one of my trial thingies... i cant hold up 2 blogs , lol! what do i write here...nway, will...see/. it needs a lota touchup, colour and all....