I’ve been thinking about doing this for a while now.
It’s been lingering in the back of my mind, rearing its uninvited head when the occasion presented itself. Like when I was caught in traffic, firmly sandwiched amongst three hundred cars and what looked in the distance to be an elephant. I thought to myself with irritated amusement “Wouldn’t this be a fun thing to blog about?”
It progressed slowly over the weeks. When I noticed that the planners of the year 2009 had somehow goofed and accidentally assigned the 14th of February to a Saturday I was blinded with fury. What was the reason behind their mistake? Why would they do something so silly? Who assigns Valentine’s day to a Saturday? The horror. All my excuses for avoiding valentine which I had saved over the years would be completely useless this year. How was I supposed to be in a business meeting on Saturday? No girl would believe that excuse. What had those idiots done this year? Shouldn’t I be doing something about this? Like blogging a complaint?
Finally it came to a head last night.
Oddly enough nothing special happened. I was there lying on my bed celebrating the end of another busy work day. I had my earphones on and Keri Hilson was yelling something about her Energy. I was dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt which had the picture of Obama and the words “Change” emblazoned on it. I was particularly fond of that T-Shirt. A while ago the T-shirt had suffered a meeting with a bottle of ketchup. Now Obama stared back at me with ketchup on his chin and a smile that didn’t seem fitting anymore. I had refused to wash the T-shirt. I loved the look of shock when people spotted me wearing it.
“Is that blood or ketchup?” they would ask, looking quickly at my face and then back at the shirt.
It was always hard to decide what to answer.
So there I was ,smelling like a man who works in a ketchup factory dedicated solely to the culinary demands of America’s number one citizen. I had just finished chuckling over some joke I heard a girl say—I can never be Lesbian. I’m not crazy about the female Vah-jay-jay. I’m so paranoid about it, they gave birth to me via caesarian.—and now had nothing else to do except return to reading my current Novel (Double Tap by Steve Martini) or attacking the Rubik’s cube which had been in my possession for the last 3 months. The pressure of choice. I was lying there trying to decide which of the two would be more fun when suddenly my alter ego Karlang sighed and asked out loud.
“Why don’t you just write something?”
Now I’m not particularly fond of Karlang. He is the annoying half of me that enjoys asking ridiculous questions.
Like what constitutes sexual Harassment at work?
Supposing you wink at your secretary would that be sexual harassment?
Supposing it’s just because you have something n your eye?
Supposing it’s her right breast?
Whenever people asked me if it was Blood or Ketchup that smeared Obama’s chin, it was always Karlang who thought saying Blood would be a great idea. Karlang was responsible for seeing imaginary elephants in holdups and the major reason why I was always in holdups in the first place. Karlang was my annoying irresponsible half who I had had to deal with all my life. He was the cocky bastard who thought he was so cool he could make gay women straight and I was the accompanying sidekick who feared he could turn straight women gay. Every week I wished there was some way I could trade him for something else—like a cricket for instance. And yet, despite our differed perception of the world and its bylaws, every once in a while he sometimes managed to say something that resonated on the reasonable or, at least ,mutually acceptable to us both.
Like when I found out the 14th of February was on a Saturday.
We both groaned out loud.
“Saturday?” I moaned. “That’s terrible.”
“Tell me about it.” He muttered. “I’m not going to be able to watch the football matches.”
This seemed to be one of those rare Moments when we both seemed to agree on an idea. I paused and considered his suggestion. It seemed like a good idea. Hell it seemed like an extremely great idea.
“I’m smart like that.”Karlang pointed out.
“Oh shut up.” I snapped.
There was sudden knock on my door and then without pausing, my cousin stuck his head into my room. He looked at me for a second.
“Who are you talking to?”
“Er.. No one.” I said with an embarrassed smile. Just some creep who lives in my head.
He shook his head sadly and left. I didn’t want to consider the conversation currently going on in his head.
I lay down for a bit more, pondering what exactly I would write if did decide to listen to my advice and write.
What could I possibly write on? I wondered. My life had been really boring thus far except for that one time when I feared I was pregnant.
Karlang sighed out loud with irritation.
“How about we just start writing and figure out what to write along the way.”
Sometimes he does make a little sense.
And so we did.
This is it.