And on this day

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Today was a big day for me. I was meeting up with the tailor that will assist me in creating my product, let’s call it SOX. I was also meeting up with one of my future customers (though she didn’t know it yet). Of all the days to have cramps and for the clouds to cry, right?

I had a normal day’s work and then after my break, I prepared to go out and guess what? Rain. I hate rain. Rain used to be my bad luck pointer. Like a bad luck charm, but now, I know time waits for no one so rain or no rain, have to do what I have to do whether I like it or not, I believe that’s the definition of adulting.  

I went ahead to drop of my SOX pieces with the tailor. I liked the vibes I got from the guy, that’s really important because I intend to make a lot more of SOX, so the sooner I get a good working partner, the better. A month back, while I was still searching, a friend introduced me to a lady she was sure would do a good job. As God would have it a few days before I was supposed to meet her, she went AWOL. Some weeks later, my friend told me that the lady had just closed shop and gone away! She even owed my friend money! If I had had the work with her, that would have been the end of everything! So I wasn’t rushing anything anymore. 

Determining a price is an issue, because they want to base price on what you look like rather than the product itself. He’s starting price was 10 times my budget. I stated my budget per piece. They bumped it up a bit and we were agreed. Dropping it off felt pretty good, like wow! This is really happening! This paper work of some 3 months is finally going concrete!  

      The next part of my day was me going to get some pretty ornaments for my soon-to-be new home… to inspire me as figures of faith. The lady that owned the shop also has quite good taste in unique and very affordable pieces. In time, I will show her my SOX to retail them or buy for herself. She says she will be excited to see them so fingers-crossed. 

After this long happy and productive day, I drive on home and walk into the house to put water on to start making dinner. As I carried my pretty flowers, I couldn’t help thinking this could be me taking them to my new apartment in a few months. It was a joyous feeling. Next thing I hear is the voice of father shouting, “AM I TOO SMALL YOU CANNOT SEE ME TO GREET?”

Mood ruined. This is someone that apparently was sitting in an entirely separate room in the house who I can in no way see in a 1-storey 5-bedroom 3-sitting room house.  And somehow my infra-red eyes should make him out and offer this greeting that will change his life… I’m tired of the emotional upheaval. Sometimes, I feel I need therapy. It’s so important to me to get things underway because well, this house isn’t home for me. It’s just a place that drains me once I’m out of my room… even in the room some times. SOX really needs to workout. 

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​My spirit animal is a chicken 🐥

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      If you asked me what my type is, I wouldn’t be able to say what it was. I know the basic: must speak English. That’s about it. I know most people go with the tall, dark and handsome but, I’ve never really been into that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as vain as the next person, he must be attractive to me of course. It takes a lot to find someone I’m attracted to though. It’s not just physical. Some just-handsome guys throw me off. My mind just rejects them.  So the “attractive” thing is like a question that has part a, b, c and d. 

But I’m jumping the gun, you must be wondering why I’m talking about a “type” at all. Well, Omelette and I are officially over. About 4-5 months ago, I asked him what he thought about us getting back together. 

YES!!! 

ME!!

 I DID THAT!!! 

I ASKED THAT!! 

GIRL TAKING CONTROL!

 He voiced his fears of our going on and off forever an extremely valid point. Even though it was a tad upsetting, I was so proud of myself for taking the initiative to if,talk that it was also a win. It’s totally unlike me. I liked knowing that I can actually do these things that are outside my character. Character becomes so predictable it’s like a security blanket but sometimes, it’s a gate. 

Emotionally though, I wasn’t so sure I would even reply another guy for at least a decade. I’m such a drama queen! Anyway August arrived, and I went to a friend’s sister’s wedding and ran into him. We had actually met lots of times the year before and talked but nothing serious, we didn’t even exchange numbers. A birthday was the first, next was when the whole crew of us for the 5-day Shiloh programme, then my exhibition in December and finally, the wedding. He had left his seat to mine and we had chatted.

Some days later, I gathered the nerve to ask my friend who I talked to that day because he is an identical twin *don’t laugh*. He’s also the first, like me *don’t laugh*. So, we kind of have the same name *don’t laugh*. Anyway my friend, Seun told me he’ll give me this twin’s number so I message him first which I immediately rejected. Shiloh was only two months away anyway, I’ll see him there. Seun went on though, apparently because Seun and I are so close. A lot of people, twin included, think Seun has a thing for me. Hence, bro-code, the guy would not make any move since he thought. I would have to message him; he will then message his friend who will then message Seun to get the “all clear”. I didn’t even know guys thought that much about anything outside football. After 3 hours of intense convincing, Seun sent me his number.

Long story short, a day later, I messaged him. 😊

Still Alive

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        I haven’t written here in the longest time. Things have been mad busy. I got another writing gig. However, this time, I actually get to use my writing style and not the formal one I use for the other company. So it’s like a hundred times harder to write on the blog because I’m already using the same free emotions to write for them. I’d written for the person who introduced me to them at the cheapest rate imaginable early in March. That was because I didn’t know the going rate for writing… and any money is still money, right? He loved the writing style, I had no idea it was a real style, I just liked things interesting and real. Apparently, it’s called Story-telling and it interacts better with the reader than with any other style because it relates to them. 

 I enjoy it.

I enjoy the pay more. 

I mean, I will when I wasn’t using it all up.  I have this project I’m working on. It’s sapping all my funds and all my energy. I would love to reveal more but I’m keeping it hush-hush to surprise you with pictures once it’s ready. I’m outsourcing a bit to get them done in time. I’m also creating its unique packaging. Trying to get a name for it is also keeping my brain heated. Is it just me that feels like the days aren’t up to 24 hours anymore? I have apps and diaries to keep me on track of my to-dos, still feels like I’m not performing maximally though.

Oh well. *super shrug*

Hope everything is super great with you all!

Archer’s guide to purposeful living

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So it’s been a couple of weeks since the actual 70kg debacle happened and since then I’m down to 65kg. I’m heading to 55. 

Thing is I have a dream to be fit. I’ve always had that dream. It’s not because of pictures from the media or anything; I’ve just always been obsessed with taking care of myself. Thing is I’ve never ever HAD to. I’ve never had to jog, moisturize or anything. I have good skin. I’m not a sugar person, I love going on walks and I love eating healthy. They are habits that are so ingrained they are a part of me. You’ll find it in my diaries as far back as 11. The situations I was in at the time agreed with these things. I had the time, nothing better doing, I was broke so I had to feed with discretion, and I loved colleges that were really far on the campus. So, I never needed to create or change my lifestyle to accommodate these dreams, they just did.

Till now.

Now, I’m a content creator, tailor and designer, three relatively sedentary jobs. I wake up, eat, work till noon, eat and nap, begin work by 1.30, stop by 5-6, prepare dinner, eat, work; that’s my ideal timetable. It’s worse when I’m on a deadline. Unfortunately, I forgot to give my body the memo. All she knows is that I’m eating all this food and we’re not doing anything with it. So, like a classic hoarder, she’s storing everything everywhere she can store it. Waist, hip, bum, Cheeks; anywhere her chubby fingers can fit them in. I was well on my way to becoming my biggest fear in the world. 

The 70kg was the wake-up call I needed. I wasn’t going to get a dream I wasn’t making any moves to accomplish. I had seen the signs, my jeans weren’t fitting, my tuck-ins weren’t as flat as before but I just shoved it off. I was busy, so busy. “I’ll deal with it when I have the time,” that’s what I told myself.

I’ve now realised you never have the time when lifestyle is involved. You make the time. I think lifestyle is health (exercise and food), it’s a relationship with your kids (if you have them), it’s taking time out to rest and shutdown, it’s concern for lovers & good friends… They are things that as you get older, you need to make a conscious effort to do if you want to keep them around. You can’t neglect them a whole week and then do the needful one day of the week. You can, but it’s not healthy and in time, you’ll see the result of your ‘half-ass-ment’. Imagine not drinking water all week and then turning into a camel on Saturday, or ignoring your partner an entire week and then planning a fantabulous outing on weekend. First week, it is a pleasant surprise. “Oh baby, thank you. This is amazing.” And then you do it the next week, and the week after; No calls or texts Sunday through to Friday and then Saturday outing, every weekend of the year. It won’t even reach two months before they’ll find someone they can share their real daily lives and have your number saved as ‘The weeknd’.

Rise of the machines

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One Saturday morning, a month or so back, I was out on my speed-walk when I ran into a sign. ‘Check your BMI’ it read and had an arrow pointing in the direction of a residence-turned-hospital. My BMI was the least of my interests. I was a healthy young woman, with a tiny tummy bump. Apart from the tummy, my body was perfect for me. I was curious about my height though: was I a 5”4 or a 5”6? I’ve never really known and tape rules don’t measure it right. So I completed my 45 minute lap and returned, bouncing in with my sneakers and confidence. 

70. Seventy fucking kilograms.

That was what the scale said. Frankly, I thought the nurse was lying. Wanted to prey on my insecurities and get a regular visitor. Then, I got home and that scale read 70 too. Could they be in cahoots? With these days of technology and apps, was it so impossible to imagine the online persona of both scales interacting on a social networking site… scalebook? Poundchat? Instaweight?

Scale at home: did anyone check some jogger’s weight in the past hour? This girl, that hasn’t touched me in a year, just plopped herself on me with the anger of a mad turkey.

Scale in hospital: Oh yeah… me. I told her that her her weight was 70kg… you should have seen the look on her face dude, hilarious!!

And bang-bang-boom, the scale at home spits out 70kg.

We’ve all seen the movies about the rise of machines; this situation cannot be so far-fetched. Yes, I have noticed my jeans and skirts getting snug, but who is to say the drier isn’t in on the mind-fuckery too and using excess heat to make them smaller. What if the machines have decided on driving us quietly insane instead of rising against us? They know how women and weight gain are never in agreement. They can be using that against us!

 I know you guys are sniggering and murmuring that I should better go do some push-ups and cut out carbs. But hear me out, Because today… today, they tell you you’re 10 kg over your normal weight… tomorrow they make you elect a clown for a president

 

So far, so good. 2017 edition

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Apologising for being absent for so long

Defending myself because the phone makes writing three times more difficult

Writing this post on a laptop, because I am

Celebrating that I got an official writing job and part of the perks is an office laptop.

Attending church again… I’ve missed it sooooo much… and a month ago, I was

Receiving the baptism of the Holy-Spirit in my life, although

Reading my bible is still challenging

Patching things up with my parents while

Deciding  my twin brother needs to exist very far from me (someone who thrives in your happiness is not worthy of you)

Praising to Power Flow by Monique, Mighty God by Joe Praiz & Soweto Gospel Choir

Making very healthy career choices,

Hoping they pan out.

Watching the amazing world of gumball, Clarence and Rick and Morty

Listening to Tonight by Nonso Amadi and Romeo and Juliet by Johnny Drille.

Eye-binging on Pinterest, as usual

Wearing socks to help out with my cold feet

Moisturizing with Yoko’s yoghurt milk cream… it’s amazing

Learning how to network better and smarter

Trying to be more vocal about my thoughts and intentions

Having a serious talk, where the decision was made to move on

Becoming okay with that and moving on as well because

Realising that I have a crush on someone new… Not completely new but certainly different from my regular type *fingers crossed*

Working smarter and more efficiently

Going on more walks… though not as much as I should

Moving to William McDowell’s Spirit Break Out and Efe’s still within the flow

Crossing 1000th delivery off my list really soon.

Learning to love and understand myself more every day.

For abs and for glutes?

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I went trainers shopping on Friday… Like FINALLY! I’m getting my fit on!! YASSS FITFAM ‘R’ US! 💪

I kid. I don’t lift weights, I don’t jog. I hate jogging; everything is jiggling and flopping about… D-rated stuff… D for disgusting. 

What I do like is walking. If walking was a guy, we’ll be up in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G… we’ll have a tree house and a bunch of babies waddling about… A woodpecker will come by and we’ll say, “no woodpecker, this is our tree now.” 

I digress. Point is, I walk anywhere and everywhere. My feet have gotten so used to extreme walking that they’ve adapted to calauses. Unfortunately, I don’t get to walk as much as I used to in my younger years and it tells… my flabs have new flabs to party with everyday.

Some people diet, some workout, but I walk (and watch my food of course… Watch it go into my belly 😁😁😁). Speed walking is my go-to get fit to-do. Asides the keeping fit benefit, I’ve missed just roaming in the open and mazing around the estate for an hour. I missed it so much I tried it with my ‘fashion’ tennis shoes.

Friends, I was barely half way before the shoe was squeezing the life out of my feet. I ended up walking back home bare-socked. So, I needed to buy the appropriate leg appendage aka trainers. So, i donned my outer wear and headed out to find it.

Things didn’t really go according to plan because, well, Friday is the absolute worst day of the week shopping. Why? Vendors are excited, friday is like the gate to the weekend. A weekend of possibilities; maybe it would be the day a 9-5 person came and bought everything, maybe the office people could drop by with their hefty wallets and lack of bargaining skills… ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN!

So, vendors are unwilling to banter much with we lowly peasants that are ready to haggle them to within an inch of profit. No siree, They want to keep their stock (and their urges) for the office gang. The Best ways to go shopping?

1. be the first customer… Traders always want their first customers to buy something as a premonition for the week. First customer on a Monday?? They would rather chain you up than have you leave empty-handed​.

2. Be a late in the evening customer: the day is spent, they’ve made as much as they would make for the day. Hope is dead, reality has set in… they have barely broken even all week. They are desperate.

3. Saturday evening: it’s the last day of the week, no work on Sunday, (insert excerpt of dead hope and empty wallet reality from number 2). It really is the best time to shop… You get extra bargaining power if the vendor is weeping while closing up shop.

So, as i was neither the first, the last, nor was it a Saturday;  i came home empty-handed for all my trouble. 

However, Saturday evening is just around the corner and I’ll be darned if i don’t rise victorious with sneakers as my spoil.