RANDOM Please .... Please

I've kept away from here for a while now, not intentionally though. I even wrote up a post one time but was unable to complete it because the story that seemed so cool in my head didn't come out exactly as I wanted. I think random is the way to go, like off the top. That way if it doesn't come out right it doesn't mean much.

I wrote on facebook " somethings I do for free, somethings I do for money " this is a sentence I had seen on Waffarian's blog. I really don't know why I did but I just found it kinda cool. That's not the only thing I think is cool about her blog, I'm a fan and I've been hooked since last week and I'm on my way to reading all her posts. I've read through 2008 and a huge part of 2009. I have up till 2011. And I need to mention that she has a lot of posts. Some interesting and the others ... less.

I've been trying to figure out exactly what makes her tick cos even though she writes a lot, sometimes not exactly directly but then she also leaves out certain details as well. * that's just me thinking out loud *

There was this post where she talked about pacesetter books. And I recalled childhood memories. Times when I would climb on the mango tree in our compound and just read novels and eat mangoes all day. The pleasure that was !


It reminded me of life before when my greatest problems were makings As in every subject ... other than yoruba language * no miracle was going to make that happen * I would escape to another world through books. I can remember reading "Evbu my love", "Love on the rocks", "The cyclist", and a couple of others I can't remember. I learnt a lot of lessons from those books and they kinda helped buld my character today.

So now as I sit in this room with about 5 people here, I feel so alone and I recall a facebook status *what is it with me and facebook statuses ? this is not good* of one of my "friends" . It's really sick how nowadays I feel so alone in a room full of people and when there's no one there.


I feel a need to release ... all this stuck up "pressure" inside of me, something like a prick of a needle to a over-blown balloon and all the air come out.

I come to this place everyday and I look at these people and wonder if they notice the change that has come over me, but apparently they do not, because they really don't really care even though they smile at me and ask me " How are you doing ? " but it's all part of a formality that humans engage in. they don't ask because they care.

In all I want to thank God for life ! ( That he helps me make it through this )