Dear Diary,
It is the last day of the month of January. Somehow, I didn't go broke. It has been a good month.
Today began in the fog of yesterday’s ghosts. On the drive to the office, my old schoolmate’s image kept replaying in my mind — a broken film reel of life decisions gone awry. It felt like what one would find in a Nollywood script. I guess it's true when they say art imitates life, or was this life imitating art? Whichever it was, it was a recurring theme of my morning.
Eventually though, the day, relentless in its mundanity, finally swept me into its currents. Emails, spreadsheets, and the hum of bright lights successfully drowned out the noise in my head. And my morning sort of faded into routine...
At noon, I stood in one of the over-used office restrooms, buttoning a stiff white shirt I’d kept in my car for days. The brand team wanted some of us to take new profile shots for official purposes. Apparently, that which we took 5 years ago was no longer suitable for the same purposes. Still, today’s profile photo felt like pressing flowers between the pages of a book: pretty, preserved, but lifeless. How different would I look? What will the image represent... Progress? Stagnation?... (Snap! Snap!)... The camera didn’t care.
Time wears its costumes well,
A collar starched, a face to sell..
Yet in the mirror, the same eyes dwell,
Chasing a ghost they cannot quell.
The rest of the day slowly passed by, the monotony of keyboard sounds, and ringing telephones creating a backdrop for the routine dance of boredom. I don't eat at the office, so even lunch time didn't bring much distracting activity. I did take a sugar free Soda Cracker at some point to encourage my thirst, so I could drink some water. And as I ate the equally unexciting biscuit, for a fleeting moment, the air felt lighter. But that vacation-like feeling, like sunlight, never lasts here. It leaves you once you step in the door. Soon enough, the rhythm of routine had swallowed even that small joy.
The drive home was uneventful. Nothing worth mentioning happened. The same roads, the same phone connected to the car's bluetooth, playing the same BNXN songs. Strangely, It felt like I missed yesterday’s stress. At least it made me feel alive. Today just felt… flat.
What’s sharper: the thorn of a day that screams,
Or the fog of a thousand workday dreams?
The clock ticks, but the hands don’t turn,
Too fearful to stay, too tired to run.
It is night now. I have tried to write this entry three times already, deleting sentences halfway through. But here I am, stubborn as the fan beside my bed. Maybe not every day needs an answer. Maybe just showing up is enough.
Let the page stay blank, let the words retreat,
I’ll carve my truth in the silence I keep.
No grand design, no scripted vow,
Just the act of showing up, and the courage of now.
#SladenSpeaks
#IfWordsWereNudes
I have had one meal all day... As I intended.
Now It is time for bed... Perhaps tomorrow will offer more that today has done...
But whatever tomorrow brings, I hope to be able to share with you...
Dear Diary...