these little things

These past two nights have been awfully exhausting in that I found myself unable to sleep before 4am. My room feels like a furnace and I worry if I will be able to wake up on time the next day. Dreams of the world getting invaded by an alien sub species, and of me avoiding extermination are frankly not helping my situation.

I am also considering how much my wishes of “get well soon” to a particular friend have been lacking in sincerity because I have lost count of how many times in a month she has gotten sick. I am sure that being ill everyday must be pretty torturous but I am equally tired from having to wish the same person to get well because in all honesty I do not understand how some people can be so sickly all the time although she is a nice friend and I figure I would do good ridding myself of such animosity.

I was just rummaging through my shelf because at this moment my screen looks like some cat clawed the shit out of it and I need to find my Blackberry screen protector I bought 2 years ago.

I did not find the screen protector.

What I did come across however, were the old letters from my French and Ugandan penpals, letters from my students, bills, bills and more bills, a collection of movie ticket stubs, a guitar pick from Kyle Patrick, trinkets, pins and badges, neoprints with all the colours already faded, full bottles of Gingko 750 memory booster pills to aid my dwindling mind, my Gameboy colour, my Tamagochis, a book of song lyrics and a whole stash of things I have long forgotten. Gone were the days when I had so much free time to listen to a song and slowly, by replaying every part again, pen down the lyrics.

Reckon it was more fun figuring song lyrics out by ear rather than reading it straight off the web.

Also, I saw the Karang Guni man below my block just now. To many, he might seem to be on crack yelling about newspapers and amplifiers, and pushing his little trolley of sorts across the car park. But I do find him a bit of a comfort, and a reminder that there’s still a bit of culture left in this rapidly developing country.

Along with my neighbour hanging her son’s army clothes on the balcony.


Heading to church now with unkempt hair and too short jeans. Nasssttttyyy.


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