Drowning in still waters
I’m off work again. Sick. Feels like I am always sick. Either sick or fighting/arguing.
Right now, watching desert hearts again. Saw it last night, saw blue is the warmest colour; hate it, love it. Hate that “amour” wasn’t enough. Saw Carol again. Cate Blanchett @blanchettcom; be still my heart.
Fantasy time again. To be fair it’s been a while. It’s crazy how years past but habits return. It’s 2016, but I’m back to 2003?4?2? 1?0?
Can’t remember, I use to stay in bed and watch all the lesbian movies I had on VHS, and Ellen @TheEllenShow instead of going to class.
Oh Ellen who knew? Remember Anne Heche @anneheche and the comming out noise?
My subconscious fought to stay in the UK @GOVUK, to come to the UK for Ellen; for freedom.
I am here, in Brexit freedom, I am British @GOVUK, I have rights, a voice, laws to protect me.
I have electricity, my room, mine. Internet, cable, a job.
I can sneer at my cousins, trapped to my eyes in marriages to older richer men. Yes they spend holidays in London @visitlondon, husbands have homes in Dubai@visitdubai, deals in Texas@texastourism, mansions in Abuja or Lagos.
I can’t resist the jibes I send without words. You married for this, you sacrifice for this? But me, I did it all myself.
Thanks to the strikes in the 90’s my mother sent us to the UK to study, once I got here, I tried to breath the air of freedom.
But I am not free.
I am trapped in me.
I am back to the same university, watching the same movies, feeling the same sadness.
I wonder what it’s like being married to Cate Blanchett or do I mean Carol? Both maybe.
Afterall there has always been a Cate hasn’t there?
What does it mean to be with an actress? What must it be like to be with a person whom everyone thinks they know? A person who is a different million fantasies to millions.
I wonder why I can’t make connections last. Anyway.
So I heard about Medium on the Economist @theeconomist audio. God bless Zanny Minton Beddoes @zannymb for puting the magazine in audio format. I may be partial, she is a woman. It could have been John Micklethwait or some unknown lacky who had the idea.
I have been trying to read the magazine since I was 10 or 11. It just seemed too hard. The graphs were always pretty, I loved the cartoons and the headlines. But I could barely read more than a paragraph before my lids would feel heavy and I would realise I had already read the line.
Inflated airport prices two thousand Naira, one thousand five hundred, five hundred naira? The one thing I would ask for, if asked what I wanted while waiting for the Nigerian airways flight, delayed again.
The saloons my stepmother took me, had the cheaper copies. I wanted that shiny black straight hair in pages of @ebonymag. It didn’t matter if the lye burnt my scalp or the hair on the edges of my scalp fell out.
It didn’t matter my hair looked like Ernie from Sesame Street, as long as it fell straight when it was wet, I was happy. Ignorance so blissful.
But I was never happy, even then.