10:40PM – Did you wince, just a tiny bit when you read drunken woman? The traditionalist, yes you are a traditionalist if you did wince, *burp so yes you traditionalist who did, go shove that wince where the sun don’t shine. Ha-ha-burp-ha-ha. Maybe to make sure you all wince and feel pity for me, I am not a young girl, I am not YOLO-ing (I have never found use of that completely inaccurate abbreviation up until today), *burp so no, I am not in campus either, I am old. Maybe old doesn’t quite do it, I am elderly. Okay I am forty eight. Ha-ha-ha okay inappropriate emotion, I really am crying inside.
10:46 PM – Where was I? Yes, go shove it where the sun don’t shine, all of you, go screw yourself. All of you looking at me weirdly, well I really can’t see you, you all seem to be dancing figures, or am I the one dancing, who cares. Oh did I cuss right there? Hahah it was so easy? Who would have known? And guess what? I did not lose my job over it! Go suck that! All those management books, and how-to-succeed books, go bloody suck that. *burp See all they told me other than the good stuff that I actually used to get where I am today were the soft skills among them, no-one likes a foul mouth. They get fired, they don’t pass interviews, they are not productive. Errrrrr……….. bubibobubibobubibo…….Have you actually smelt this mouth? The beer, the vodka, the baileys, I don’t think there is a fouler mouth than mine. And I still have my six figure, world changing job. Yes, I change lives, I am a change agent and what not. I like that song playing! I don’t even know the artist nor the name of the song, but heck I can shake my bam, bam. Dj bring that boom boom back.
11:35PM – I think that girl over there likes me, she’s young. I like young, no actually I hate young. Guess what? *belch I was once young, and it now gone, all lost, I am now almost half a century old. So yes I hate youn—She’s smiling at me, she definitely likes me, and she’s whispering to her friends. I think I’ve heard something about these pretty young things wanting sponsors, and now with lesbianism, maybe society will accep— now she’s laughing. Probably laughing at me. Ladies and gentlemen, exhibit A, what lack of love and compassion can do to someone. Make you entertain the possibility of being a lesbian sponsor to a child old enough to be your niece if not your daughter.* Hiccup *sob I will wallow in the misery that is my lif—-ooh! Ohh! Ohh! I like that song too.. ba dum, duf ti, duf ti, chow. Beats by DJ re? Dre? Fray? Oh who cares.
11:56PM – Shit! (there goes the cussing again) Oops! Still got my job! Drink to that shit! *belch. Ha-ha-ha-ha*burp Oh see there’s a fairly handsome man seated across from me, he doesn’t look that bad. Oh wait, I remember, beerholder and beauty. Drink some more. Maybe he will get more handsome *hiccup. I can almost swear he’s been staring at me the whole night. I mean, I can’t afford to be too choosy right now at half a century and counting. I probably don’t have any ova left in me right now. Or maybe I do, I think I can feel them. Okay now he is intensely staring at me. He’s coming over! Brace yourself. Act cool, act calm, remember don’t intimidate, men don’t like powerful women, be naïve. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha- He was going to the bloody dance floor, hahahahahahah, now I am sure he is looking at me. I’m laughing so loudly aren’t I? Hahahahahahha is that my echo? Hahahah, can’t be, not with all the physics I know, no empty space here. Hahahahahahahahhahahahhahahahaha. Oh my ribs. Okay, too much spinning, too fast. Ouch! Hahahahahhahahaha- so this is what it feels like to literally laugh my ass off, or is it rolling on the floor laughing, who cares.
12:10AM – I need another drink. Bartender!!!!
12:12 AM – Guess bloody what? The bartender called me m’aam, fucking m’aam. Drink to that! Still got my job!! Ati, he thinks I have had enough, that he should call a cab for me. Grow a pair bartender and give me a bloody drink, and something stronger now!! Doesn’t he know all the accolades I have to my name, has he no idea of the prizes, the recognition, the achievements I had done barely by thirty? How many people are dying to have me mentor them? Does he not know what is waiting for me in the bank or what kind of people call me in their circles, such great respect! No one dares cross my path, I am more fundamental to them than they are to me! So grow a fucking pair and pour another! Besides, there is no child somewhere hungry and motherless because I am seated here in this—where am I again? And there is no man feeling lonely without his wife and doubting the integrity of his marriage. Silence. Slurp. Slurp. Slurp
12:47AM – How on earth do people manage to party the whole bloody night? I mean I was tired but sucking it up like three hours ago, now, now I am fucking bone tired. I can’t even drink to that! Still got my job, though! Might be that I am just about half a century old, four dozen, about five decades, two scores. Yes, Math was good to me, so was English, well, really so was the entire bloody syllabus. Deal with it! Slurp. Slurp. Slurp
12:56AM – I mean, I wish someone did tell me, tell me that feminism was so much work, was lonely. Who infact came up with the idea of feminism? Go shove it up where the sun never shineth. Tell me, tell me feminism isn’t drinking at 48, barren, lonely and successful. I am a fucking woman with wasted ovaries and have spent half a century old, four dozen, about five decades, two scores trying to beat the man. 9 months of pregnancy would have taken me back, taking a leave for wedding planning and honeymoon, would have taken me further back. And we can’t have that. Not when what men can do women can do twice as much. Bull freaking shit. I want a man, I want a husband, I want a baby, a crying, nagging, peeing baby. This is quickly spiralling into a sob story. Slurp. Slurp.
3:00AM – What more is there for me to live for? No heart breaks to drink over, just accolades and prize to celebrate. I am celebrating, this was a celebration. No ulcers from stressful children. No hypertension from juggling ten thousand things, birthday parties, holidays, dinners, clothes. I am bare. Barren. A desert. I was once a forest. Green and full and with each time I tried to beat the man, I lost a leaf, then a branch, now I am a desert. A desert of a woman. But a man-made forest of a man. In a woman’s body. I have all the makings of a woman, but no woman in me. My body struggles to be woman, aching with every wailing child, horny for every penile man. But my mind fashioned to be a man, think like clockwork, emotions for who? Slurp. Slurp.
3:29 AM. I will lay my body to rest. It will struggle no more. It will ache no more. My mind hasn’t to win each battle against my body, it mustn’t struggle for victory. Bartender, call the cab now.
Signed: PseudoDr.
Happy Mashujaa Day to you too!
