These jeans are the biggest mistake I’ve made since last week when I scoffed down a large doughnut, with ice cream, at close to midnight, in bed. They looked great when I pulled them on, paired with my leopard print flats, and to be honest I was quite smug about it because I’m still wearing some of my pre-pregnancy clothes at seven months knocked up.
But halfway through a long, hot day I’m seriously contemplating using the scissors on my desk to free myself. I feel like the waistband is literally cutting off my circulation, I can’t sit properly, there’s a bloating situation going on in there: I’m bloody uncomfortable! Plus I’m seated with my feet up on another chair because the left one won’t stop swelling every time I’m at work. I’m convinced I’m developing an allergy to the office because this didn’t happen for the entire week I was on leave!
Anyway, compounding this physical distress is a different kind of discomfort. I’m feeling excluded. Now exclusion is not something I’m used to. I’ve always been just the right amount of cool to attract the cool kids without having to put in any of the hard work (or so I’ve told myself); and just bookish enough to fit in with the quiet ones. So I’ve never felt excluded because I could always find somewhere to belong; even if that somewhere was my own company. Because my own company is bomb you guys!
I’m scrolling through Instagram (it has become a vice), and seeing some of my girls enjoying a trip to SA. Ordinarily, I’d be liking all their pictures and commenting and telling them how much I hope they’re having fun and asking for gifts – the usual stuff, right? Instead, I’m hating everything they post, I’m filled with pure jealousy and I want nothing more than for their trip to end and for them to come back to the reality of Nairobi traffic and the hum drum of desk jobs. I’m looking at pictures and going: “What makes you think we’re all interested in your little girls’ trip; do you have to post so many pictures; you’re flooding my feed; maybe I should unfollow you; why am I even liking pictures I’m not in?”
I can’t explain why I’m being so bitchy about it. Maybe it’s because I’m convinced I wasn’t invited to tag along? Michelle says I knew about it but I’m sure I didn’t because I would have at least considered it, and I didn’t. Never mind that I wouldn’t have been able to travel and have fun in this state but I want to have the option of turning shit down, you know?
Am I being irrational? Hell yeah! Do I care? Not in the least bit because you know what? I am so freaking emotional right now I’m not even trying to understand why I feel the way I feel some days. I’m butthurt and in my feelings and it’s a bloody rollercoaster and I have no idea what’s going on.
I mean, why would these girls, who I’ve known since high school, do this to me? Am I not cool enough? Didn’t they think I’d be interested? Don’t they know that I could also use a trip abroad and try out all sorts of food and visit interesting places? Do they not want me around them anymore? Is this the first step to being thrown out of the circle? Or is there an inner circle within the bigger circle that I didn’t know about and clearly do not belong to? I have many questions dammit and each picture is bringing out jealousy in a shade of green that is nowhere near pretty.
Anyway, to console myself I started checking out Easter holidays because I really wanted to go to the beach for some R&R before Gong arrives, and I couldn’t get any cheap flights because – and common sense tells me this every year apart from this year – it’s a busy weekend and everyone apart from me understood this and did their bookings early. I was busy clutching at my non-existent pearls at KQ’s tickets for 41K – kwani Diani moved? Why the hell would I pay that much to fly within Kenyan borders? Like, pay that much for a ticket and my passport won’t even get stamped? I’m not about that hunny!
Now because I’m stubborn, I kept bugging the travel agent to get me cheaper flights like he could just print a 3D plane and hand it to me, and when it didn’t work I decided to check for myself. Of course I couldn’t get anything reasonably priced. I was even contemplating sending them a pic of the bump and telling them that Gong needed the holiday. You can get away with anything while pregnant right? Then I remembered how badly KQ needed the money and how there was a high probability that they’d delay the flight and/or turn it into a jav so we’d do Mombasa, Ukunda and Malindi in one trip, and I advised myself against it.
Now the adult version of me would have just said oh well, next time I’ll start planning earlier; but not this emotional cow. Oh no. There I was, on the couch with my feet up on the coffee table, fighting back tears because I wanted to go to the beach dammit! And not any beach. I wanted Diani or Watamu, which were suddenly out of reach for me. If my girls could get a holiday why couldn’t I? I wasn’t even being greedy!
I was sniffling and staring at the laptop through tears because I couldn’t be on the beach and I wanted it so badly, and for some reason it felt like the universe was denying me the most important things in life: sun, sand, salty water and good IG pics to stick it to my friends.
Anyway a few minutes later that funk passes, I accept that I can’t get the small beach holiday I wanted and I look for another option.
That’s a glimpse into my emotions nowadays. I’m finding myself unfollowing people, ignoring phone calls, rolling my eyes at people, telling others how much they irritate my soul and avoiding some. And it’s showing in my cooking. Seriously, I was trying to make baked potatoes the other day and I’m sure I created a new kitchen low because they just looked boiled – and they spent over 30 minutes in the oven. That was right up there with the time I burned a fried egg and heated milk intended for tea to evaporation (so no, I don’t make mixed tea or fried eggs).
Is there a cure for this? Because if there isn’t one you’ll all just have to bear with me. In the meantime though, could those going on holidays just stop with the posting? I’m a bit unstable right now and cannot be held responsible for my actions so don’t test me with your fancy-schmancy wine tasting and sightseeing photos, even if they’re for “TBTs”. Michelle, Julz, Wambui, Elizabeth Regina and Rutty, that’s for you. Before I choke and die from this giant waru in my throat.