I have suffered a day marred by failure.
I do not mind doing something and failing, far from it. What I cannot deal with is the feeling that tags at my being and drains me. That emotion that feels like the grey area between wakefulness and the twilight zone. That heady sensation that links straight to the pit of your stomach, and pulls at your innards so you feel like retching but you can’t, because the emotion is not real. Still you can’t shake it. It won’t leave you.
The worst emotion of all time.
When you attend 4 consecutive interviews and you receive nothing but glowing compliments on your achievement and amazing potential. Only to receive a letter of regret from the same people who assured you of success. They hired a person with less potential and limited ambition, and far less experience and credentials. Disappointment.
You have dated for close to five years. Moved in together. Have a savings account together. Seen various plots where you will build your future home. Picked out names for your unborn children. You are definitely getting married. And then you don’t. You find yourself single. It happened too quickly, and you cannot retrace your steps. He marries someone else, and yes, your brilliant plans are executed by her. Disappointment.
You switch from using the pill to something more reliable and at least 99% success rate. The pills made you fat, and you were not consistent in taking then on Saturday mornings. The doctor said you may experience a change in your flow, may be heavier, maybe lighter, but it will pan out after 3 months. What you got instead was no period at all. Because the two bars signify an invasion that you were avoiding. Disappointment.
You are late for a meeting, and traffic does not make sense. Three cars and two matatus ahead of you make a U turn and take a different route. If only time could stand still for an hour so you can get to your meeting without having sweated your foundation away. Two more cars make the U turn. What the hell, you do the same and swerve into the opposite lane gunning for the “chochoro” that will save you 40 minutes in transit. Just as you turn, a cop on a bike appears in your rear view mirror. He signals for you to stop, and you know you are in deep sh*t. He looks approachable and is in high spirits. Your low cleavage and coquettish laughter is not working as it usually does. You offer him a bribe, and he declines. Because it is the holy month and he is fasting. Your case will be heard on Monday. Disappointment.
If you identify with any of these scenarios, then you know how I am feeling.
If you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to a man about a dog, one from Tennessee!
*chochoro is a short cut, usually down a dark dangerous ally.