It’s 10.44 AM and this glass of whisky is seated next to me, staring. A long hard stare like I do not deserve it. And you know what? Maybe I don’t. Whisky should be an intimate arrangement between a man and his bottle, the celebration of success and the occasional drowning of sorrows. Mine is a sad whisky, a whisky that cannot believe it is out of the bottle before 2 PM. But everyone is doing it, writing about the year and how it was, and so what kind of writer would I be if I did not join the bandwagon? Don’t answer.
To be honest this year has been one long blur, it moved too fast, there was no time to get off and enjoy the scenery. No stops to take a leak; just one day coming after the other leaving behind a long trail of calendar dates in its wake. At some point it felt like walking through thick mud, dragging my feet, thighs, and psyche to get through. Barely. But what the hell right?
Why can’t a new year be like everything else new? You know? Exciting. Like new shoes. And by new I mean straight out of the box from a vendor, never walked in before. A virgin shoe. A shoe fit to bear the weight of humanity. Sic. Instead it starts off to mistakes, like cancelling dates for the first few weeks because you’re broke. Hehe. What? You thought I get my dates wrong on paper? That’s just sad. Then the excitement that is all around you like the stench of stale deer urine? Of people who are happy about shedding off the bad and accepting the good. The resolutions that have nothing to do with 1080p but long lists of hopes and dreams that are now gathering dust and weighted down by the massive cobwebs of procrastination. Then there’s me the little fella who fell for the hype and believed that it was indeed going to be my year. What a dumb fuck. Lol.
The month of love? Lovers? For once I thought that maybe I would end up at a corner table with white linen and lit candles. Maybe a bottle of wine, open, and half-filled glasses seated across the one person that made my heart bit a little faster. But just like my writing my love life is a joke. Literally a joke. And not ati a good joke, the one that makes you laugh. It is more like a Shad walks into a bar, looks at the bartender and says “My love life” and gets a free hug but still pays for the drink.
What the fuck happens in March? What’so mind blowing that it would end uo on my blog next to an awesome piece enjoying your attention? Nothing. That’s it nothing. March was as obscure as a panty line on tight jeans with no panties on. I don’t remember half of it. Even all of it. It felt obsolete. Even the drink ups were nothing to write home about. Polite tuskers and polite conversation with random people at random bars. What? By now you know the closest I’m getting to bae is bar.
Fool’s day? Yeah. I think I might have met someone pretty awesome this month but I can’t remember. I’ve met one too many people and for me that’s a huge step considering my personality. This month was kind of good but also a blur. I almost fell in love but then they hiked the prices of spirits so I’m still stuck with beer. But four months in was enough to know the year was no longer mine. Also I had some legendary food at some family function. You know how it goes right? You can forget great people but never great food. Lol. But to be honest the most memorable thing was a road trip with my best friend cousin Rachel. An inspiration that carries MK, wears denims and has kick ass heels. She makes my life worth it together with her squad of two boys. Perfect.
A birthday. My birthday. One I rarely celebrate but crowned with a trip to a gentleman’s club, whisky, more whisky and some beer.
Sorry I don’t remember you. But be good to me next year. Be memorable. Fun. Wild. Kick me in the nuts and kiss me right after.
My other half’s birthday. The big sister who owes me a lot of whisky and keeps paying them with hugs. Siz, they are not the same thing. Keep the hugs get the scotch hehe.
Traditionally August in Kenya is a month of loss. Lots of it. Ome blow right after the other. But it was good. The worst thing I suffered was cold sores and a bad hangover. Might be my mother’s prayers. She does that a lot. Compensates for all the praying I sometimes don’t do. Oh and went to this pretty soul’s birthday. Hi Paula. Yes you got a shout out too. Angie showed up as well and we had one hell of a time. I’m kind of proud of Angie she used to be a social carterpiller but look at her beautiful butterfly wings now.
Hi Lucy, you know this is your month. I won’t talk about anything else other than how strong you’ve been. Sometimes I even doubt you need that shoulder to lean on. You got this. I got you. So smile sawa?
Beers with my mum. Milestone. Anything else? Oh yeah had a raccoon trip with the goons down coast. Debauchery came alive. Hehe. My guys si we do this again?
The best friend’s birthday. Due to unavoidable circumstances I cannot write much. Anything. About this.
Drinks on drinks on drinks. Nyama. Family. An awesome straw hat gift by another cousin. Lots of love from random internet strangers and the Adam Perspecteve.
Guys see you in 2017.