My mum has a theory that the state of your room determines the state of your mind. Yeah, I still live at home, and my room is likely to be the least tidy in the entire home. But I guess that theory explains a whole lot of other things.
Let’s start with the clothes that I just barely manage to keep clean, but would likely never know what it is to be neatly folded and hanged up in the drawer, if my mother hadn’t found that nice lady to come in once a week to clean house. Just in case you wonder why I wear ragged blue jeans and wash-wear shirts, I usually fish my clothes from under the bed in the morning which generally means that I have to buy clothes that can withstand the chaos and hide it at the same time.
I am not a bad person just one who has trouble staying neat. I wake up at 4.20am, study for an hour while my mind is supposedly clear. I kinda flunked two modules on my online course so I have to study an extra two hours every day to make up. Anyway, At 5.30am I get into the get-ready-for-work frenzy which dictates that I do my yoga, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast (sometimes), brush my teeth, get out of the house, then come back yelling that I hadn’t combed my hair/ had forgotten to put on my shoes- not necessarily in this order, and finally make it to the Citi Hoppa bus terminal before 6.40am. I guess you are saying that I should be waking up earlier then. Hmm…let’s see.
The Citi Hoppa arrives in the City Centre at 8am. I get off somewhere on Kenyatta Avenue, and head to the Old Nation Centre roundabout, where I get matatus to my place of work. I arrive in the office at 8.30am and it takes me a full half hour to recover from the assault of all the PSV experiences.
Today, the guy seating next to me on the bus decided he needed someone to talk to about, I can’t remember clearly but it was something about PNU trying to pin something on Raila, and his outrage at the ‘Draconian’ Media Bill. I am trying to remember who Draco was. Sounds like a nice name for a vampire in one of those gothic/supernatural films I used to watch when I was a death-obsessed teen. Dude, I care about my country but it is way too early for me to share my opinions with you! The day before, the lady sitting next to me fell asleep and drooled on my shoulder and the bus was emitting noxious black fumes that made me wonder how any one could sleep though such choking horror. The day before, some old guy with a balding head whom I am pretty sure I have seen before with a Preacher’s Collar, was busy trying to molest me under his great big jacket. I kicked his shins, called the conductor, who threw him off the bus when he insulted someone else who called shame on him, and then the conductor told me he recognized me from a TV interview six weeks ago. Have to buy a car before the end of the year.
Why can’t there be a cute guy who does not say much on the bus but smells nice for my sensory entertainment every morning? Yeah,…
So anyway, I work till 5.30pm and the travel nightmare begins again only this time it takes twice as long to get home as it did to get to the office. I arrive home at around 8.30pm every day. Most of the times, I feed my cats, and then settle down to study while eating my supper. Bad study habits I know.
It takes me roughly about 3 to 4 hours to finish my daily allotment of study, research and writing assignments. By the time I am done, I usually can’t even tell my name. Bedtime is always around midnight.
I am grateful for my red furred cat, who even though I have tried to teach her to lie down with the other cats in the cat basket, always finds her way into my bed, and curls up close enough to comfort me, then jumps right up exactly two minutes before my alarm rings demanding for her milk and waking all the other cats while she is at it.
Sparkie is a major reason for the chaos in my room. She know the best spot to take her mid-afternoon nap is right on top of the books I left open when I ran out of the house without my shoes on. These days the fancy to tear pages off at the corners has eluded her, instead now she drags any garments that have loose strings especially trousers and tracksuits, and bras under the bed for a game of catch-string-and-chew. Then she convinces her siblings to play Tom and Jerry chase with imaginary mice and their own/each other’s tails.
When I get home, I get the sweetest I-dinnae-do-it-mama looks that I have no choice but to pick them all up and cuddle them as I scold them.
So anyway, the chaos theory popped up in the middle of a disagreement with a guy I like but who I am not dating since the weekend. Is it all really supposed to be neat? I mean, we both expect a measure of perfection in each other, but I am kooky, untidy, and I spend 6 hours every day in a matatu. He is sane bordering on hyper neat. Everything in his life happened when it should have. He has never been sick a day of his life (exaggeration). And he drives his own car so he doesn’t have to endure the totally gross farts from sleepy co-passengers.
What am I complaining about, huh? Never mind. It’s just chaos.