Dignified failure.

"if you find someone to take the blame for all your failures, then at least you can fail with dignity." I don't know whose quote this is, but I'm in love with it.
Eve is the person responsible for all my shortcomings. Yes, Eve Adam. She's the reason my life feels like sandpaper.
Wasn't there a garden boy in the garden of Eden who she could have crept with instead of that Mamba...?
Really, Eve fucked up a lot of shite for us women!
Right now I've chosen to burn my husband's lunch, and Eve's going to take the blame.
Damn, it feels good!

*but here comes a million pound question..*

Why did God, (the almighty, the Mr-know-it-all) put that wicked fruit in the middle of Eden when he knew it was bad? Why did he not just chop it down to save the world from sin?

Khoswe ndi mphemvu.

Do animals ever smack their young one? Like discipline them?
Nanga ndi chifukwa chani khoswe alibe khalidwe?
Makoswe nonse omwe muli ndi ana, chonde yesetsani kupatsa ana anuwo mwambo. Ife anthu tatopa ndi makhalidwe anu oyipa, okuba!
Ena ndi Ana a mphemvu..... Khalidwe labwino linawadutsa.

I wonder what would happen if a mphemvu was to marry a khoswe?
Dziko lingayipe ndithu!

Questions.

Hey G,
I'm gonna have to call you that from now onwards. Graceful takes up too much space on my page. And I need every bit of it for my rage...lol my raging sage, I mean. Besides, G is kinda cute:)
Anyway, my mind is a simmering volcano of questions this morning. I tried to tweet them but you know how economic twitter is with it's characters. Very frustrating! But I'm glad I have you. Unlike twitter, you are generous with your space.

I was thinking about this thing called love when I woke up this morning. That I still haven't reached it's core yet to fully understand it. And its getting really lame. All I know is that at one point in your life, a certain homo sapien comes your way and turns your heart into porridge. That sounds dorky, doesn't it?

But regardless of how stupid love seems and feels, (you know the whole rapid heartbeat thing, the scary feeling of feeling like you might poo in your pants after seeing the one that has your heart, and the whole making a fool of yourself by doing things you never did before just to impress...SUPERLAME!) it still remains a puzzle that needs to be completed. The world mysteriously revolves around love.
But does it truly exist, love, or is it one of those mysteries our minds refuse to give up believing?
I always try to convince people that love is a true fact. That I once came vis-a-vis with it. But did I, really, or was I just under some strange spell?
But what was it that made me want to dance around nude whenever I thought of him?
What was it that made me cry whenever I missed him?
What was it that turned the pit of my stomach into a play ground of butterflies whenever I saw him?
If that wasn't love, as Jennifer Hudson asked in one of her tracks, then what the hell was it?

People say when you love someone deeply enough, you'd never hesitate to move immovable mountains, cross 'uncrossable' oceans and seas..., bring the moon and the stars for them. That, G, is what puts doubts in my mind about whether I truly had a taste of this rarity called love. Every time I try to convince myself that I did, my mind gets back to all mentioned above.
The truth is, I gave up before I even tried to move Everest for the one I loved. Or thought I loved.
But had I dared try, could I have moved it, with my chicken stamina?
Moving on to crossing the Irish sea...., that I failed to do too.
But If I were to put on my sexy swim suit and found my way to the salty Irish waters, would I have made it to the other end without drowning or being feasted by sharks, or both?
And the idea of going all the way to space to extract the moon from it's orbit for my boo sounded a bit like an impossible grade 1 adventure. Plus, it was going to be tough persuading mr moon to come along with me. So I ditched that too.

What do you make out of all the above failures?
What do you think?
That I should have tried harder?
That I should have worn a braver spirit and risked the sharks?
Do you think the reason for me failing to try had something to do with the fact that I didn't love deeply enough?


*ndiye iwe Chelsea uluzenso lero...*

ukapolo wa mpira.

I'm still hearing some idiots making of fun of Chelsea's epic loss to..., what is the name of that team again? Kaya akuti Sunderland..?
That's so last week, man!
Ngati mulibe chokamba sokani pakamwa. Iya!!!

Idioteque

Hey Graceful,
I've got what people call the 'writers block'. But I guess in my case it would make more sense if I called it the 'bloggers block' instead...,right? Since I'm no writer yet....? Is that true, that I'm not a writer? So why do I feel it so frighteningly in my bones and blood cells that I am? And what is it that I'm doing here? I feel like myself and anyone else who's ever been able to put something down on page, whether a its love letter, or a memo, should have freedom to the title "writer". So yes, we are all writers...literally. Who says nyo, John Grisham, anyone?

Ok, let's move on to a more interesting subject... Only I have none. Shame on this blocked mind of mine!
Maybe you want to hear me whine about the dream I had last night that not only made me cry this morning, but also upset my whole 'fecking' day? That I'm ready to do. It seems that's all I'm good at these days. Whining...
Yes, it seems it's always the same story with me. You are probably having piles just reading it. I'm forever on the same page. And it's so getting old...! I have exhausted the "whys" and "hows" and all the possibly sensible answers that never answered enough in the first place. Even my eyes are exhausted of creating new tears. Right now I've attacked the reserve bank. Thats where all the extra tears are kept. If that runs out, I won't be able to cry at kiki's funeral - thats my sister's hamster. It only has about 2 weeks to feast on cheese...

Anyway, after all is said and done, at least now I know that a love that was once felt so strongly lives on! It's angry blazes continue to burn you over the years, probably for the rest of your life, even from a thousand miles away. And believe me, that ain't no child's play!
I'd love to say that I won't make the same mistake again in my next life..., of loving someone so deeply at a very young age, but I'd be lying through my 31 set of teeth (I lost one tooth in some dentistry war, in case you wanna know why I only have 31 if the grinders).
The thing is, no matter how sore my heart gets over what might have been, my soul still smiles broadly that at least "there had been", "there once was". In some weird, sick sense, I enjoy all the bittersweetness of what once was. I enjoy each and every painful moment that occurs after each bittersweet thought, after each sweet-and-sour dream.... After all pain is the only connection I still have with my sweet past. The only link.
In other words, no matter how much I cry and whine about wanting to forget, deep down I know I don't want to. My silly heart doesn't want to let go, EVER!
Maybe I'm just addicted to pain...or I'm just plain cuckoo..., or maybe both...you take your pcik!

Alright, my shameless clinging to the past has become a cliche. I'm sure you are all tired of reading the same kind of senseless shite. I promise to talk about something else next time I'm in this neighbourhood. Something like why Tony Parker and Eva Longoria have already had enough of each other so soon? Or why Hart and Pink have decided to bring a defenseless, talented idiot in their old age? Yes, 32 is very old if you are having your first child.
Ok, as my sons would say after overeating, "ENOUGH mum"! So enough nonsense for today:)
*Feeling better already. Scribbling is better than vodka*

What a big, boring, pointless routine life is!
Weekend is back again, and homo sapiens are going to do the same things over again; finish work, go home, eat, go to the pub and get sloshed, drink-drive back home, sleep and moan endlessly about hangover upon waking the following morning. Yikes!
Nothing ever changes in this life. Except our appearances...