Not About This Life

You will remember my sister, she had decided she was “not about this life” that being #diasporastruggle . She jumped ship... no preamble, no warning. Just yanked my heart from my chest and in one fell swoop killed a 28 year relationship. 

Let me lend some perspective here, she had begged me to help her set herself up here as things were “so bad” back home. Everything in her life was in peril, marriage kids etc. There was nothing there for her oh boohoo… I am not rich by any means. I cannot even send my parents money. Working as a waiter for Pete’s sakes…I set her up with a place to sleep, job (no matter how meagre if you have been jobless/homeless/hopeless in a foreign land you know what this means) and decided weeks after to return home. Far as I’m concerned she just wanted a break from her life and didn’t matter to her at whose expense it came. She also wanted to shop. She left me high and dry, in a flat I couldn’t afford, broke with a child to feed and school. Almost made it seem like I had brought this upon myself and told me things I will never forgive. She has never apologised - we don't speak anymore #thatisall

Shortly prior to that I had been getting lucky with the interviews and had finally signed a contract that would end the waiter career, I had found a job that though it paid less, afforded me more time with my child and to pursue other interests. It restored my dignity and allowed me to use my brain.

I dived for it

Having been doing this job this long, I can positively say I LOVE MY JOB!!! I appreciate the challenges -challenges and opportunities it has given me. Somebody pleeeeeease give my boss a medal!

Backup a bit, 

I got called for an interview and aced it. Then Nemesis suggested a celebratory dinner at a 5star joint. Oysters for starters, creamy garlic snails, salmon n avo salad, calamari, fish n prawn, desert, candlelight & a young stallion type Italian waiter with long black hair tied back in to a pony and a taut derriere that just screamed 'spank me'.

I am a food junkie; it turns me on almost as much as a Frank Ocean's Novacane. It turns me on almost as much as Nemesis. No way you are gonna have oysters and go home to cuddle. It was onnn. That night we left the impossibly high pink heels on as we got it on.

Anyway, back to the crisis. I was starting a new job in the middle of a pay cycle, stopping daily income and in a flat I had no money for. To say I was stressed out would be a gross misrepresentation of facts. I was not sleeping I was not eating and I was bursting into tears with no provocation out of the hurt my own mother's child had inspired. I am still failing to wrap my head around exactly what happened and if I am going to go through the Seven Stages of Grieving, I am still very stuck in the first stage of Shock. I refuse to acknowledge much less accept it all.

I pay homage to my employer, I wouldn't have made it.

 No way I was having a man pay my rent as had been suggested by the sister among her numerous solutions to the situation she had created. It was a tough time for me and Nemesis was a rock. He comforted me whenever I would burst into those errant bouts of tear-fall and rocked me until I slept. He made sure whatever aspect of my life I'd allow him to soothe, would be soothed. All except my long list of sticky pride aspects.

We established a new flow, babysitters were recruited and a great many volunteered to allow us room to bond and to allow room for debauchery, life went on. Once in a while we would take baby along with us and she adored this man to a fault. They both become six when it was playtime.She gave him a nickname and he named her too. She got three soft toys and gave him one that lives in his car watching over him, I have one and she has one too. Call it a trinity if you will.

We got past the first crisis fine; he never bolted even though I almost willed him to. 

It wasn't long until we had a new disaster to deal with...