It was a rainy afternoon when I wrote this, what I now will call a paradox or maybe a cliche perhaps. Although it’s raining, I can feel sweat building up underneath my breasts, just like how the rain is puddling up on top of my aunt’s car cover. It is wet, and it’s not quiet.
I can hear the voice of Frankie from Grace and Frankie in my head now as I speak to myself inside it. It feels rather satisfying to sound or feel like an old woman. You can do the stupid things you did when you were young and still be looked up to.
I write because it is a rainy afternoon and I’m sitting beside my window, thinking I should be writing something. Although I know, deep down, I don’t have to write about every music video potential or romantic-comedy film ending scene type of event that comes up for me to make up as a reason to write, sitting by the window on a rainy afternoon. It’s all nonsense, I know. At the same time I know I need to be writing because indeed I feel good writing right now. I feel like a movie star about to end or begin a film. Any type of film can come up with a good writing scene. Of course, none of this is real and I should just be waiting for my afternoon dump to happen after taking my afternoon coffee. Thank you god, if you are indeed real, for the magic that is Tramadol, Opioid Analgesic extraordinaire, that I know I’ll still be asleep if I want to, by ten in the evening.
Much of what I write nowadays are just musings and stories I make up as I go. The afternoon dump is well on it’s way but it has to wait until I’m done with this blog post. The first time I wrote something, I said I’ll talk about my cats next post but I didn’t. Instead I procrastinated for about two and a half months and I still haven’t written anything about my cats.
*scene change*
I am now writing from my toilet seat which I cleaned thoroughly this morning with Domex (yes, no more Pine-Sol was available and I was on a budget). As you can see, I already broke my aforementioned promise. I wasn’t able to control my bowel movement and that makes me proud of my rectum, having a mind of it’s own.
I can still hear the rain outside. Anyway, I was talking about my cats. I was out in the front yard if you may call it (which is just a walk way to the houses inside the compound and a parking lot for my relatives’ cars), when I was drinking coffee and it started raining. My cat was sitting on the ground floor windowsill which is actually just a makeshift air-vent, and I can see him looking out at me while I drank my coffee. He was so surprised that one minute I was inside and another I was outside! You could see from the look in his face since cats are quite expressive animals. He couldn’t quite fathom how I’m able to enjoy the one thing he loves the most: outside. I kind of think it was him who prayed for it to start raining.
I don’t usually do that. Honestly, I don’t do that at all. You won’t see me hanging out in that germ infested, piss smelling front yard, even when I was still working. I’d be in and out of the house, that was my life before the quarantine. I remember one of my ex-boyfriend’s mom bleaching their piss and germ infested front and back yard which made me remember how much I loved her and would have loved her if she had been my mother-in-law.
I think cats know how adorable their meowing sounds to us humans. And when they let out that purr, it’s over for you. You’re a dead person, death by cuteness.
It’s starting to get darker. I can feel my day ending slowly but surely. I scratched Magic’s bum and stopped Blue from scratching the stairs post as I climbed back to the room and sat by the window again.
*change scene again*
It’s still raining. I’m no poet I guess. I’m just a person with a computer and a working internet connection. But now, poet or not, I am less bored, maybe even less sad, more satisfied. I got a lot of stories in my mind and I hope you’re reminiscing with me. Hoping to get better at this story-telling gig.
Lots of love,
The Variables of Jums 