July 4, 2025.

hello, the weekend.

the city grabs me with grey fingers and thrusts me into the torrent. the breeze whips at my face with hard-hitting droplets of rain. an arm to block my face, an armpit to hold my tote bag tight. the keke driver adjusts his hand to brake. i come down, collect change, and cross the road without looking. death is probably better than the deep blue that occupies my mind. my eyes droop with tiredness, flogged by a lack of sleep. all around me, everyone looks for cover, for shade. i run into the building just as the clouds lose restraint and gush over everything.

it is cold. oh so cold at the sixth floor of the building, the breeze is chilly. the air conditioning fires at me with an icy blast. one, two, three, seven, hundred; that’s how many times i take a leak. all around me, everyone hovers over a laptop or phone in rapt attention to the demands of work. it is hot. there is spaghetti in my mouth. it is wonderful, a salve and balm to my stomach which seemed to have been tearing apart from the minute i woke up.

there is still no power. i mope about in the semi-darkness, gathering clothes to make my weekend getaway. i sit in traffic for two hours – helpless as the cab fare climbed steadily. the tailor told me he would shorten the sleeves of the shirt. he didn’t. it is too late to go back now. i feel uncomfortable in the outfit but the wedding is tomorrow. i must make do. i hope it doesn’t overshadow the fun i am supposed to have. i am tired, struggling to stay afloat as weakness threatens to drown me.

it is warm. oh so warm in my baby’s arms. a couple of hours can make a difference. one minute you wake up alone and miserable, hours later you’re sharing a plate of fried rice with a gorgeous woman and cuddling into a restful night.

hello, the weekend. my old friend.

Food Count for July 4: Spaghetti from Cheezeys/Mcvities Dark Creams/Fried Rice.

Water Count for July 4: 200cl (estimated)