Functionality as an annoyance

Picture drawn by me

Not very often do I sit to assist in myself in being an object of interest in a way that blows my mind off it’s path but sometime in the weeks prior to this one, I wondered out loud in the basement of my mind and all it’s belongings that I must have a pet peeve and it must be the fact that I’m on the way to having a highly functioning life. I wasn’t too surprised to replicate a good meaning gasp at this discovery, never mind my statement of this not occuring as often as it might to some people, because because…

I know I pray too often about growing and developing without thinking much about what this presupposes for me. I think about the prerequisites for another person’s life and I am one to regularly tell people the foundational basis for all their expectations,but tell me for instance, that to be good at speaking or teaching, I’ll need to practice this and for a moment I’ll be bewildered at why you would want to punish me like so. No fair mon ami 😮. But this has been a resounding message that I’ve come across in the words of my favorite preachers in the past few months (Sarah Jakes, Micheal Todd and Steven Furtick). They insist rather too regularly to allow me some comfort in my state of passivity that to expect anything, or rather, the act of expectation requires a stepping out in doing. One does not acquire any skills and protection from sitting on a couch asking for protection from a battle that has not even been initiated. You need to take up arms or at the very least be present in whatever situation.

There’s a thought I’ve had to look closely upon concerning how much I try to insist that my life must follow a certain pattern. I think they world has a model on which other generic models are being moulded from. To play it safe in this way is appealing even though sometimes I experience the sensation similar to the one which causes the making of statements such as “he/she was ready to risk it all” found in much more risque situations. What I mean here however is that I’ve wondered about how much I might be suppressing my own unique adventures because a lot of what I consider my life has not followed the pattern of other lives I see around me. I am twenty three and have stopped looking as much at similarities in other lives, but I am yet to fully embrace what comes to me. Some things are easier for me in my life, some harder. There is a tendency to want to apologize for what is easier as I look for the catch because I do not see this happening in other people’s lives. This is something I need to stop.

But of course, I still stress a lot whilst singing “if He did it before, He will do it again” . There are similarities between me and the children of Isreal who complain two seconds after a victory. I still think God favours me while wondering why He is so slow to catch up with my memo and when , if ever things will ever be as I want. I look back however to see if I have been stretched in ways that is transforming me from ‘glory to glory’ as it says in the bible. I notice sometimes that even that is too slow for me and causes me much frustration and a heavy heart. In my fantasy world, all stretching would occur without my participation. I’ve been very present in this world, never escaping beyond the limits of what is available to me in Jesus but sometimes I wish I too could escape for hours apart from sleeping when I am tired.

It is April in the end. A month I’ve been waiting for a long time. So much is happening and will happen this month and I’ve decided to allow the miracle of thankfulness be part of this month in large portions.

That’s all I have to say 😺

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Our distinguished tailbone

In the much ado about things era, what really is there to interest us about a tailbone? Five and a half out of five people need to research just what this bone is and where it is located, seeing as it sparks controversial imagery solely at the feet and mercy of what would naturally be imagery of an animal’s tail. How, how… do we have a tailbone when we are made in the image of God and are the head? Strangely, in the world of many wonders, even as you admit that seven would be a number relegated to the minimal number of occurrences, such things exist.

The tailbone is located beneath the spinal cord. That is as far as I would go in biology before being accused of diving into error. What matters most is that pain around the tailbone hurts and like I mentioned recently, on a scale of one to childbirth pain, it exceeds it. I would know this because i happen to be one member of the feminine race who recently had this bestowed upon her. Distinguished sense of feeling, to say the least( wherein I dive into the lol terrain).

As the on-going tradition of writing my examinations for the first semester of a New year has never been broken, even with recurring anxiety and bits and scraps of bronchitis and pneumonia to spice up an already busy couple of weeks, I’d been curiously on the look out to protect myself from anything which would harm me. The winter had been mild for many weeks, I’d been feeling really disgusted with the little effort it put in being vicious, as well as equally satisfied with the way my examinations has been going that I’d scoffed at the dull pain that had begun to pain? on the Saturday before the Wednesday of this week. I took a few pain killers and kept on going to my university with high hopes that it’ll disappear like a pimple, but alas…

A pepper plaster does nothing to take away swelling around your tail bone and if by now, this still reads scientific, I mean it does nothing to take away the pain around your butt. That should clear things up. We proceed. The pain killers helped in making me ignore the swelling enough to write all my papers but one. On the 24th,after an exam, I thought I’d die because I needed to take more pain killers than usual and I could feel a lump that scared the fear of not passing an exam out of me. My thoughts went in the order of ambulance, injection and right now. Surgery at that point had not crossed my mind. I had no idea.

My aunt and her husband picked me up at the bus station and we went to where ambulances usually go to. We were told to see a surgeon since it wasn’t too late in the evening. The painkillers had taken away the pain I should have felt from human touch, so my surgeon(wherein I make excuses for him) said I should rub some balm/mask and take an antibiotic and that if it got worse I should come back in the morning. Night came with a fever of 39.0 and an inability to walk. I took a post operative painkiller and we went to the hospital where I was told it was my tailbone. It was bent and had been for a while and only recently had it decided to collect infected fluid and cause so much pain. That was goodbye to my final paper for the semester.

Surgery was slated for the same day. My aunt says it lasted for forty minutes. I slept in the hospital for two days but now I am home and only go to get cleaned and have new dressings done. The surgeon cut deep, but the pain has reduced considerably; gone infact, though I sit with care and not for long and I still have a constant temperature of 37.2 which I’ve been told are as a result of having a heart that needs proper treatment. I have a new handbag, a new usb cable, a new relationship with my cat, my grandma has a new crystal inserted in her eye after her cataract treatment. I (we all do) have a new experience with living that I have barely exhausted with a post that barely scratches the surface, but I thought I should share a little before I slept today, so there ☺

It was just like yesterday

2017 was just like yesterday. Obviously,I should be forgiven for thinking about this year in past tense already but I have a headache and my photoshop does not have animator so there is nothing to do but read my old 2016 post here

First of all, I am struck  by how I found the number seven to be a novel number. Makes me want to roll my eyes now. what optimism! Such great hopes lol. So not fleshed out in the way it has always appeared in my head. I thought I’d had long term life plans written in that post only to find them sounding commonplace and easily not memorable.

To summarize what I do think about my resolutions post in one line, I’d say it was much ado about nothing. It was not grand enough to  cause a climax even if followed meticulously. It certainly doesn’t feel like a warranted a post of it’s own or maybe I have grown to diminish the importance of what I wrote.

I have lost interest in telling what I want to achieve and am more interested what i have achieved. And the highlight of my year has been rediscovering my drawing talent. I would share them here as I have done already on twitter if I had’t lost the enthusiasm few seconds before typing the last line. Drawing has consumed my mind much more than writing or reading. I fear I might be entering a realm of mish mashy–this is not a word- state of not caring meticulously about the informationizing of myself. It’s been less controlled and restricted, more nuanced as  I go long stretches without touching a link or some book. I recently joined a reading book club so maybe you shouldn’t believe my lack of interest so readily ei. But with that being said, i have to add that I have been thinking in terms of a Wacom graphics tablet and since we’ve all been proclaiming things recently after khalid’s win at the grammy’s,  I say it’ll be nice to have one in addition to my asus tablet for drawing.

What’s been happening lately? Well, I have a month before my exam and before I dye my hair whilst hoping it doesn’t fall out like that news about a white girl who used a relaxer on her hair because sigh, sigh, sigh, what was she thinking?  All that as well as nothing much like me finally getting the basics of html, Css and javascript.

And just because…and in case anyone is wondering what I’ve learnt this year, it is that nothing is definite and we should not make promises of things we cannot control. That and some other things which I have spoken of already on twitter which i’m again, too lazy to recap here.

 

See everyone in the new year or whenever, if God wills .

 

A moment

 

I’ve been bugged, really been bothered, in an absolutely bothersome way to  write today. At any moment, the gates of whatever would have been opened and I would have payed dearly, in ways that I know not of, for not having listened to the call to write,which just goes to prove that the call to write is not really a myth, it is the mantle of Elijah, something that manifests inself into a burden, which in effect leaves me writing. I have been called to write today, is simply how I would paraphrase these lines, but you know that already.

I know my favourite thing to write on earth is about who I have become, like entrails from a deer. Why not a horse? Why entrails? I have absolutely no idea, because, remember again if you will, I have merely been called to write again today, and that is exactly what I am doing; writing as I have always done,in days previous to this one. Similar to it but not quite it. About what then? Well…

On who I have become. Someone out there says we become and never return to what we have evolved from. Someone talks about stages and we know there is no land of return, because a change implicitly leaves us altered and explicitly, yes, truely there are new vocalizations attained, of our temperaments, outlooks on life…I was meant to be talking about myself. I forgot.

I could say I have become(been) blurred(out) like a melted piece of crayon, not chalk. There is the maybe..maybe I should read more , to write more, but this begs the question of what effectiveness there is to having  words written. With eyes that have fasted from paper, from the thriftiness of obsessive expression, an apparel like no other, one that demands in ways that leaves you without understanding as to why…

I have written. I know that it was necessary as the spirit beckoned. It is written

 

 

open your window

My eyes looked down, across the screen to where we all collectively have the words ‘move to trash’ and i chuckled. This does not add or take anything away from my intended story, or the appeal to open your window, no matter how much you see the need to not engage in that precise activity of opening your window. much ado over nothing that isn’t in anyway important to me, or you or any living creature who finds itself committed to reading this blog post to the end. i shall dust my shoes now and chuckle some more.

Chuckling completed. what then is left for us except to remain on this page and wait for what will come at us? i know, you know that I know that you are tired of hearing how long it’s been since I wrote anything, but I know, you know– we all know to be very honest, that I shall still mention it once more, precisely from habit, or tradition, maybe culture, or probably not. Rein your horses, gentlewomen! I think I physically was engaged in reining in horses because I am out of breath, hypothetically. I like being hypothetical about things that require no study into the true nature of things, as you can tell by all the signs–don’t ask me what or where—that there is no need for studies, in general. generally speaking.

To further complicate matters, let’s get right into the topic of today since we have decided it isn’t about windows or opening them or about opening them in succession. It isn’t even about writing about why I have not written or anything to the effect of that. It isn’t really about anything, and this should, if it hasn’t by now, done something at least in intimating a fail of some sort on the plan of literacy. oh, give it a break , Lizzy, shall we? Lol

Apparently, this did not go as planned but i liked it, so that’s what you get. See you in the next blog post.

On boring but hopeful lives

   For the past three days, I’ve been going back and forth as I try to fight for what i want to be the last time, my infamous despondency. I have chosen hope inspite of it all. I have chosen to always be hopeful no matter what and to achieve this i had to go over again the usual process of painful reviews to give up my life again to God, to give up all the things I don’t understand and still ruminate upon as a final offering. This requires acknowledging them(for the 19484949403040…time) and moving on from there. I have decided that there are more or less normal lives and normal stories to tell, but for some reason mine had to be told to and it didn’t matter if it was a deviation, it still had to be told and God thought i would be the perfect candidate. like it or not, it is what it is and it is a life I have been called to live. I have fought it and why-ed me for so long that i am tired and just want to accept and move on.

I am not currently living the life I imagined I would, just like millions of people around the globe. In that sense, I am not special. There are things I want right now that I will never again have, I will have to learn to desire new things and imagine that i have always wanted them. I miss having a mother. It is a little known fact maybe, that if I had one still alive, I’d never have started blogging, I’d never have had the need to observe the world so strictly and try to come to conclusions to satisfy a mind whose grip on conclusions like these are loose. But I have started blogging and I have become that type of philosopher and now purveyor of hope.I have come to accept that I am also suffering the consequences of my parents poor decisions in life. yes, it is possible that if there had been no abortions, i would have had siblings and my family would not have struggled all my life going to different places for the so called fruit of the womb, that if a less promiscious and thoughtful life had been lived by my father, he would have had older children at this time when he needs such around him to take care of him, I would not be feeling perpetually poor and I would have had my mother alive instead of feeling like an orphan whose contact with her father in a year can be summed up as less than thirty minutes of two minutes phone calls every three months.

There shouldn’t be any reason for hope, i don’t see one when I look at how far away my mother’s grave is, in a village I would not want to step my feet in unless i was planning to die the next week, when i wonder who would bury my father if he should reach the end of his life while I am still unsettled as an independent adult, who will go to perform traditional rites…the situation is so foolish and a result of general thoughtlessness and false optimism. And this is my inheritance. Not strength, not encouragement, but I seem to have inherited or will be on my way to inheriting a handful of tragic moments in the future. It feels sometimes like waiting for that train to collide even when you’re not bound and can escape. It feels like the escape routes are filled with more of such trains and this is your—my end.

 

Where does hope come in? I don’t know. But maybe this is just where it does comes in. Because looking around me, there is nothing to be hopeful about, there’s no foundation on this earth for me to stand upon, nothing solid. It’s all waste and desolate. Maybe it is in this place where i am faced with brick walls and sinking sand that I can finally take all my hopes from the ground and lift them up as a final bargain, believing that there is nothing bigger than God, because man is so small for the problems in my head, for the problems yet unknown, for the problems currently trying to get constrict me. Because free from the distractions of having more options, I can finally just focus on saying that God should just lead this life where He wants it to go, with all the losses, with all the struggles, because there’s nowhere else to go and i have no fanciful ideas of my own. I have chosen to hope.

“Hope be my anthem

Lord when the world has fallen quiet

You stand beside me

Give me a song in the night”

-Hillsong( Jesus I need you)

3 years Liz-o-pen

WordPress sends the message that I have been blogging here for three years now. It doesn’t matter as much as it should to me. These occasions are celebratory ones for fresh, less world-weary sorts of people. People who are unlike me buried with my mortality and perpetual loneliness. so, to celebrate, in a certain way spurred on by savagery or a cruel desire to taint the demeanor of the world with more weariness and the appaling sort of stability, I have taken to celebrating it with a blog post and be just like everyone else.

I have had a miserable sort of day. brace thineselves, for the one who has this sort of sadness adapted to her should probably be more of the complainer than the sharer or reader joining in the endeavour of reading and finding out more about how the day went. What? did anyone hurt you? No. Same answer I gave to my well-meaning grandmother who hugged me and kissed me but somehow whose warmth I did not feel. I’ll admit, I guiltily did not feel, but I cannot help it. I am not self-indulgent in my misery, but more of a victim to the spaces in my head, convoluted with flashbacks, with heat, with pain and with longing and what feels like a discarded life. This is a paragraph of disregard. surprisingly, it feels like my best paragraph so far.

That being stated, I have had to hear of stories of friends I love whose lives are filled with hardships and sadness and this has spilled into mine. I want everyone to be happy, but this is not always the case and many times very rarely the case that it is hard to have my spirit elevated. The foreboding of disaster draws close on my neck, making my hairs stand. No one cares as they should. No one understands as they should. we are alone. This is what spurgeon speaks of when he says friends depart and only Jesus remains immutable. It is an old lesson.

It might be the heat, the summer that never ends as the flies that come with it, it might be the new season, whatever that may be , the apathy that comes with it, that spaces go on forever, life is too long, and everything repeats itself and why shouldn’t the thing just end already. Or it maybe my need to get busy because things are bland just as I had suspected for a while. So far as it doesn’t yet end–life, I mean, after being miserable and feeling the weight of the oppression of hopelessness , I decided, come what may, I will just be and hold the horns of whatever bull. May it crush me or should it not, then I stand a chance at living and life, so I have decided to push on as I , in that peculiar loneliness that comes to people the higher they climb is motivated somehow. It is tough to accept that going back to that plane where it is easy to meet people who can grasp easily might never happen, but being one of a kind is not entirely peculiar to me.

Tomorrow promises some new adventure, a slight one, but whatever. If nothing matters to anyone, one more or less shouldn’t cause me fear.