I’ve been struggling lately to write in this blog because I feel most readers fall into one or a combination of the following categories:

• those who want me to stop complaining/whining because it annoys them. Obviously they should stop reading this blog.
• those who want me to stop complaining/whining because they are mildly sick of hearing about my faux woes (because they could show me “real” problems and woes, don’t you know) and think I should just fix my problems instead of writing about them. These people annoy me the most.
• those who want me to stop complaining/whining because they want me to be happy, and when they read my entries they imagine me sobbing into my laptop and plotting my demise. To these people I am grateful and I promise I’m not suicidal or permanently depressed; I just enjoy analyzing the minutiae in my life.

That’s ok though. I have options. Option one is to not care what readers think, but of course I do. I could also close comments to my whinier entries so that if you wanted to let me know what you think, you’d have to email me. Or, I could end particularly whiny entries with an unrelated but fun question so that those who feel bad reading without commenting can respond to the question and ignore all the angst.

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In other news, the right arm of my glasses broke last week so I am walking around with it taped together. Nothing says “I am an accomplished female of 30 years of age” than crooked, seven year old lunettes held together with tape. At least we no longer have to wonder why promotions and dates have not been coming my way.

Speaking of dates, online dating (still) sucks. One of my suitors (ah, doesn’t that sound quite exciting? Too bad I’m exaggerating) wants to know if I live alone. I dodged the question but when he asked again I asked why he wanted to know and his reply made me laugh. He asked because he wanted to know how much parental control I was under. I’m not sure why I find that so amusing but I do.

One man who described himself as fit and loving exercise asked me if I’d like to go and eat fried chicken with him. I took it as him mocking me so I wrote back something sarcastic.

Another guy, when I told him I didn’t find our profiles compatible, told me I was too fat for him anyway. Poor guy; I guess I hurt his feelings with my “rejection”?

I’ve become accident prone and my left leg is this week’s casualty. I have a nasty scrape and I’ve just drawn blood again, knocking it quite hard into my centre table. Last week my umbrella opened in the bus and my attempts to close it quickly without taking out the eyes of those sitting beside me led to me slicing up my right hand quite a bit. I actually had to wrap a sanitary napkin around it and hide my hand in my purse for the duration of the bus ride. I wish I was making this up. I’d like points for resourcefulness, by the way.

My house is an absolute mess. I want to sleep for two days straight and I want two weeks off. Who’s going to make this happen for me?

*the title is Yoruba for “all sorts of things”

Filed under: Mundane by jummy