Had a shit day at work yesterday.
Came back home having successfully gathered, in my mind, other BS past events to feel shit about.
But instead of hiding my mini depression behind alcohol or sex, I decided to pray about it.
Having all that stuff compound inside you, in the form of thoughts, will fester and eat you up inside.
Venting in the form of prayer, for me anyway, helps.
So I went to bed, sat up and took my sleeping Sethu in my arms and began to pray.
As if using her as my telephone line to God.
Mentioning how that very baby girl has the flue and needs to get better soon.
How taking her to speech therapy is emotionally taxing and how I need to be strong for her during these effortless sessions – the little one has the time of her life during these sessions.
I also prayed on how I need to speak to this surprisingly ignorant daycare teacher labeling my genius baby as a slow learner, even though the child development specialist evaluated that she’s only delayed in speech for her age.
Actually f*** the specialist, I see that my baby is on point, even though the stupid twat doesn’t.
I prayed over the shit job situation, and their stupid ass meetings that borderline exit interviews.
Prayed about me having to raise 6 times my monthly salary in a space of 12 months as an offering to officially marry the mother of my child.
Me having to move my family to a new rental space. This being our 9th move to date.
The car needing services & repairs.
Me, the first born, feeling compelled to take care of my mom who sold her house.
God knows why.
I say God knows because after the house got sold and she had to go rent for a couple of months, she moved to another church.
The previous church is rumored as a church that uses people’s beliefs to church’s benefit…then again isn’t that the case with most churches?
God works in mysterious ways.
Mom now stays with relatives, who I feel are side eyeing me on why I haven’t stepped up to the plate and took ownership of her situation.
Hell, I’m barely holding things together with my family, let alone including umama into the equation.
Thinking that having the mother of my child going back to live her parents house would save us some money and open up some cashflow options, only to have her own mother kick her out.
Mamazala, your future son in law is working on solutions here but you’re a not getting with the program.
With resumes being updated and submitted for new job apps among all of this. Anxiety levels stretching since I’m going out of my comfort zone and whoring myself out to the marketplace yet again.
Then I heard are only distributor of energy in South Africa was over R400 billion in debt.
So maybe I don’t have it all that bad see?