This here is a post about how my work is driving me to drink.
If the ever-present threat of random drug testing, and, if the policy on recreational drug use was not so fucking explicit....
If I knew for sure that my smoking a lil' Mary Jane tonight could in no way lead to a state of joblessness tomorrow....
I'd so much rather....
I love Wikipedia… I know now the meaning, the different types, usage and even the history of puns; but I still have no idea where to place one except, off course, where none is intended.
“Reality is fake, dreams are for real” …Tupac Shakur
Once again, this morning, from a nightmare I arose
….twice or thrice a week, these past months, I’ve had this same dream….. that I’d wake up one day, thirty and old, with nary a bit to show, for the score and a half of a pitiful existence, but a resume replete with unfinished masterpieces, amazing fetes half pulled, and a bright future barely lived….. and ……. twice or thrice every week, I reached for me bottle…. and shivering, I’d took a swig, to help brave the day, and wash away the cold sweat that had broken in my mind…… glad that it was just a dream.
Once again, this morning, from the same nightmare I arose
….. with one arm I reached out and wiped the cold sweat that had broken on my brow, and blindly searched with the other for my escape…. and as I swung it desperately towards my mouth, it finally dawned on me…. Tupac may have been right, but now he was dead.
Half full my ass…. the fucking bottle is empty, and this is not a dream….. life’s a bitch innit!
Last year I half joked about not being able to think things through... alluding to my inability to take things seriously and blaming my mother for it seeing how all that I am today can be directly attributed to how she raised me. This morning as I struggle to hold back a legion of emotions that are threatening to explode and overwhelm me, I can only smile bitterly as I consider the irony of it all. If only I could be half the man that she raised me to be.
Anyway, one August day last year, I started what follows below....a letter to my mother, and meant to post it as my middle of the year "Mother's day" post. It had occurred to me that "Mother's Day", while being a really good idea, was really shortchanging our mother's who most certainly deserve to be recognized every single day for the hard work they've done and for their undying love... I never got to finish it.... and even more sadly, I never got to send it.
This Mother's Day, I'd like to dedicate this, perhaps my final post on this blog, to the greatest woman I know. There are not enough words in my vocabulary to give a fitting enough tribute to her. Those who may have had the good fortune to have met and known her will bear testimony to this:- That 'Seeking neither fame nor fortune, she gave of her wealth, her time, and her self, time and time again, in ways and manner that a thousand words from me, or from anyone else for that matter, would never justify. In her kind, soft-spoken but firm manner, she affected many a life in a way that only a sincere soul could and left an indelible that eternity itself will never erase.'
I owe her my life, my love and my gratitude. I will forever be indebted to you mum. Your passing may have been sudden and unexpected but you've left a surplus in our lives that will abound for the rest of our lives. May we honor your memories in everything that we do.
And the winner is..... Me.
I'm not that crazy about concerts.... in other words, there is not that many artists that I'd sell my grandmother to go see. Matter of fact, I can only think of one - Bob Marley; and luckily for my sweet granny, they both dead.
So it turns out that a girl I know doesn't have many friends... and the few she does, four to be exact, are very generous.... generous enough to buy her two pricey tickets to go see Hov, who, coincidentally, she likely would have sold her granny to go see... perhaps those friends aren't just being generous, maybe they are acting in her grandmother's best interest....
Anyway, whatever the case, turns out that of all her four friends and 6 Billion plus non-friends in the world, I'm the lucky one who happens to be free to go with her. Or at least the first one to say yes?
So...
Look for me! Young, Me
Cruisin down the Masspike - high, way
Doing what some y'all 'd like to do - our, way
Eyes behind shades, this necklace the reason
this one's gonna be, a blind date
But today, I got my thoroughest girl wit me
I'm mashin the gas, she's grabbin the wheel, it's trippy how hard
She rides with me - the new Bobby and Whitney
Only time we don't speak is while payin the friggin toll
She gets to carry the change, but soon as the payin is over
She's right back to being my soldier
Cuz mami's a rider, and I'm a roller
Put us together, how they gon' stop both us?
What ever she lacks, I'm right over her shoulder
When I'm off track mami is keepin me focused
So let's, lock this down like it's supposed to be
The 2010 Bonnie and Clyde, Her and Me
image stolen from here
Well, y’all know that what happens there stays there… and if you’ve watched ‘Hangover’ the movie, then you also know that the reason it does is because… well, you don’t quite remember it wholly… rather in bits and pieces that don’t quite make enough sense to you, let alone anyone who might be interested in hearing you recount it to them. Yesterday, while chatting with FG, who I’d hoped to but did not meet there, I realized that not only had I forgotten what had happened there, I’d even forgotten to indicate here or on twitter, or fb, that I’d be attending the USA Sevens tournament which this year was held in Las Vegas. So, not only do I not know whether I met any bloggers, I have no idea if any other than myself had planned to and or did attend this Kenyan National event.
Yeah… It’s National alright. That much I do remember. Rather, I don’t remember feeling so Kenyan, and proud to be it, and acting it, and reveling in it. Visit any IRB site that mentions Kenya and you will be impressed by the awe in which the Kenyan Rugby fan is held, even probably more so than the actual team, which by the way so very well reps for Kenya. You will find that any commentary on the Kenyan team will not fail to commentate on and laud their fans for their sheer dominance of the Rugby events they attend. Vegas was no exception; they were there and they represented….. one huge red body of emotion that stayed continuously high, through the highs and lows and more… aided in part by the unlimited availability of Jeremiah Waters…. well, their US equivalents anyway, but for the better part by the unifying force that being and getting together (behind enemy lines) in a foreign land produces.
So huge a force to reckon with they were that everybody else…. other than the damn Samoans…. wanted to be Kenyan… and even they too will.. sooner or later. I mean, we (my group) hadn’t been inside the Stadium doors more than a minute before we were accosted by a seemingly sane white girl who, recognizing our nationality from our attire, had to touch ‘real live Kenyans’ and did not leave until she had kissed one of us… am not sure who it was that got the honor… I think it was Njeri… or was it? Well, it couldn’t have been me…. while she could have mistaken me for real, I couldn’t very well pass for Kenyan despite the camouflage, much less a live one.
Soon after, soon as the good Capt. M had ministered to my lifeless body… I too…. as Kenyan as I’m not, was a tiny part of the Red Madness…. dancing, stomping, singing.... yelling… and shamelessly making a grand fool of myself; and making sure that the beer vendors recognized that something great had just happened in Vegas that weekend. And that didn’t just go for the concessions at the Stadium…. Heck! I only made it to the stadium once, and that was on the first day and then at 4p.m at that…… but well in time for the last (for Mashujaa) game of the day…. Owing to the fact that the nightlife – which in Vegas, quite reminiscent of hengs back home, extends to the wee hours of the morning; and our tendencies or mine at least, of wanting to make all of life one continuous party.
The madness was as evident at the clubs at night as it was at the Stadium in the day. I don’t suppose Vegas has ever had such a huge influx of Heineken drinkers as that weekend.
Anyway…. Yeah, I finally attended the US Sevens…. and the whole way there bemoaning the fact that just when I finally decided to attend, they moved the venue from San Diego… but not anymore. The few coherent memories I have of Vegas have not a hint of regret… and I did go to San Diego later in the week for some R n RJ.
I'm Hurting Inside
When I was just a little child,
Happiness was there awhile.
Then from me, yeah, it slipped one day.
Happiness, come back, I say.
'Cause if you don't come, I've got to go lookin'
for happiness.
Well, if you don't come, I've got to go lookin',
Lord, for happiness, happiness.
- Bob Marley
So I went looking for happiness... and I was not disappointed. In California I found her, walking along the white sandy beach; singing in the cheery breeze; the sparse clouds dancing lightly to her tune; and the big yellow sun, orange with tan, lounged lazily against the sky, smiling indulgently as her words floated by.
I fell on my knees and begged her please... come back with me to the northeast, if only for a little while at least. She paused for a moment and I thought I saw her eyes mist... before she turned and skipped along, singing again as if I didn't even exist.
