2016 found me face first on a bar counter in a club almost passed out holding an empty bottle of scotch, incoherent and with no functioning cognitive skills. Wait, actually the bouncer found me. I don’t know what 2016 did other than just be another overhyped year. Plus, it’s a leap year which means one extra Monday for us. I can’t say I ushered it in pomp and glory but if the sounds of a revving single turbo subaru do count then yes I did.
You know what today is? The first Sunday of 2016. We have another week of firsts. People will flood us with ‘first selfie of 2016’ or ‘first work day of 2016’ there as excited as a virgin on her wedding night until the bubble bursts – see what I did. Two weeks down the line and the resilient will hang on to their resolutions while the weak will just shrug them off and say ‘there’s always a next year’. Right now the gyms are full – the regulars hate this. They know come February the only thing the December lot would have lost is interest. Banks are pushing their personal loans like a Kamiti guy pushes his airtime scams and dangling it in front of holiday spent parents looking to take their kids back to school. It’s unnerving the mentality we have its like we never knew January was never coming along. Now people regret the advances they took, the unnecessary debit card swiping, that one more beer and that ‘but daddy you promised’ impulse buy at Sarit center.
But I’m here to write not to rant although sometimes it’s hard to tell the two apart. It’s like going on a date with Tia or Tamara, from sister sister? That nineties sitcom? How old are you? – but you see what I mean? What has the new year been to me? Well, it’s been a cocktail of emotions. Most of these have been nausea, headaches (yes these are emotions. You know how ladies -read wives – turn down coitus and blame it on headaches?), fatigue and heart breaks. Yes, even the rack gets heart breaks. What did you think I was? An auto bot? It’s one of those things that happen and you wake up, you’re transformed and you feel like the world’s weight is crushing on your shoulders only you’re not Hercules and haven’t completed any twelve labors to help you become a better hero or man or god or demi god or whatever Hercules was.
I don’t know exactly how I should take this. Maybe like a news anchor. Throw on a good suit, put on a nice smile and dazzle with brilliance and a dash of bull shit until the world thinks I’m okay. I’ve never seen a sad news anchor on screen even when the mood demands to be sombre. It’s like it’s anti media to shed a tear or three. Maybe I might go out and have a few mocktails (the sad version of cocktails – they don’t have alcohol) because I’m doing this thing where I’m trying to save the few coins 2015 spared me and tightening the belt up for the rough ride that is January. The funny thing is that these mocktails aren’t even cheaper, same price for less of a kick. Sounds like a bad deal to me. Unless you get sugar rushes and that works for you. Mocktails are what secret agents and super spies take at parties to fit in – I don’t really know what they take but Bond, James Bond likes martinis, shaken not stirred. But either way I’d have a few of those in a nice suit and keep my chin up because when you’re down the only way to go is up right?
But like any writer it’s a new year so the scripts the same with a few revisions here and there. You know? Write more, network, get published, go viral, get known and maybe be a little famous. I am saying a little famous because if writers out there are anything like me then they like to thrive in anonymity. It’s always fun to see a reader of your work who has no idea you write it. Then that look on their face when they realize it was you all along. That little bit of flush in their cheeks because they were unknowingly singing praises and throwing compliments. That upper hand you have when you throw in that “btw it’s me, I wrote that”. You’re that guy at the party that knows what girl has a crush on them thanks to a nosey friend or handy wing man. It’s the proverbial taking candy from a baby. So yes this year will see me write more, I don’t promise to post all my work on the blog but behind the scenes I’ll be banging that keyboard harder than Clinton banging Lewinsky knowing Hillary’s ETA was five minutes away. I’m going to be the iceberg. Iceberg sounds like a good name to give a penis. You know so you can say “kichwa tu” then bam! This year there’s going to be a whole lot more to the Rackster.
Plus the fact that I know it’s going to be a long year – not the leap – but the fact that the only drink I can afford right now ‘ni maji ya uzima’ I’m going to make it count. I think there’s a pun somewhere there – find it.