Plagiarizing Facebook

The title means that from now henceforth the posts that appear on this blog will have been copied word for word from my Facebook page or else I'll drag them straight out my head. Some of my memories make for dull stories but have to find an outlet. Praise the Blog.

On to other matters.

I'd come to Nairobi from home sweet home, Kisumu, where I'd been trying to act like an ex towards my ex. Otherwise put, I avidly avoided her and pretended to be having a good time when I couldn't avoid her. This included being rather too loud and chummy with my lady ex best friend on phone. Anyway, developments were such that by the time the holiday ended (actually I fled to Nairobi long before time), we had bared our fangs and had a fight to end all fights - nothing physical. Her verbal lashing was ably met by my logical reasoned arguments about rubbing friends forever and ever. She blamed me for a variey of things, including Atheism and Anarchism, and I in turn thought her bum looked fat in that. Thus did we part amicably: just like I wanted it.

Why we left one another? The single life is so uncluttered but you can't tell from seeing my room. Relationships are for later. AND Yes we left one another; she didn't leave me, and I insist to death.

I thought I was in charge, having come out with minor ego burns. Trust The Ex to have feminine wiles for correcting the anomaly. She came right at me, weeks later, in my school-time bedsitter-type room (Blue and White, a home away from home), knocking the door at a time when I was dozing a dull afternoon away in the ambience of an Al Jazeera presenter's voice. My shock on seeing her outside my door was well hidden... at least I hope so.

"Wrong house, lady," I told her, pulling off the most malevolent glare my grogginess could afford. Trust The Ex to simply walk in. I wanted to go Hey I'm talking to you but decided against it. It just wouldn't work.

She had on this smile. Now this smile... She seemed to be seeing through me and smiling at my weak fight. You know better than that, she seemed to be saying, Admit it, boy, you missed me. The smile charmed my insides. But when she lavished the same smile on the furniture, the messy desk, the pile of clean laundry on my bed and even the air, all in the process of giving my place an appraising glance, I decided it was a mocking smile so I shouldn't excite myself.

"What do you want?" I demanded, feeling less outraged and more apprehensive than I was sounding. I also knew full well that she had travelled a massive distance - all the way from Kisumu to Nairobi, in order to... to...

to do what?

She had not spoken a word. As I stared at that smile, I felt real fear in the pit of my stomach.