The water is soapy. Soapy and cold, and because the soap is cheap, it will dry out your hands, and you don’t like, no you hate, dry hands. They feel strange, and you really hate getting them, although complaining is not something you are allowed to do right now.
Right now, the dishes need to be clean for use tomorrow and it’s either tomorrow at 5 a.m or right now. Right now, 5 a.m looks impossible, and so you’re scrubbing the pots with a scouring pad that badly needs to be replaced. You’re sleepy and there are about two more to go. It’s hard being 28, unemployed and living at home, you’d ask mum to hire help, but she’d ask if you’d pay for it, and you’d feel even worse than you feel.
It’s hard to imagine feeling worse than you feel now, but if there is such a feeling, then you wouldn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Instagram hurts nowadays, every picture a reminder of the life you’re missing out on. School mates having coffee at posh places, wearing those glasses that look like they cost a lot of money, smiling and using too many hashtags on their pictures. Church friends posting pictures of skydiving, the photo-quality of the camera looking like one of those expensive types. The reminders of data running out a constant reminder..”and someone spent Kes 200 on a cup of coffee”, you think bitterly.
If you hate cold water, getting the mattress from your younger brother’s room is something you abhor. The bed is too small so you wouldn’t fit properly, and because the room is packed you have to spread out in the living room. The fact that he has to leave for school early means you don’t want him to find you spread out on the floor, which means your alarm goes off at 6. Barely enough time to sleep. Which means you’re always on edge. You can’t afford to go off though, you need a place to stay.
Twitter isn’t funny anymore, and you only get on there to see if you can get any updates on work. Somehow, someway, someone has to find a way of making it about oral sex and how bad Kenyan men are at it. You aren’t bad at it though, although you haven’t had any sex, oral or the other one, in months, and maybe you need some, but where would you do it? What would you feed the girl? What would you buy protection with? You unfolllow her and scroll down fast before the video loads and your bundles are gone.
It should be a dream. A bad, bad dream. That you aren’t home at your mum’s, doing dishes, at 28. That you can’t even listen to music lest you wake someone up and its pandemonium. No Chris Brown, no grass greener on the other side, which sucks because he calms you. He’s 28 like you, only that his shoe cabinet is the size of your whole house. You don’t need depressing thought now though, it’s 11 a.m and these dishes won’t do themselves.
Thank God for what you have, life is rough.