july 8, 2025.

wet day.

i am standing under a random building in onike as i write this. i am hiding from the rain. some guy in front of me is drinking orijin bitters from a small plastic bottle. it’s the right idea; ‘hot drinks’ were made for weather like this.

i have had an okay day: lots of movement and distraction. i went to see adeoti and wunmi after work and now i am trying to navigate the treacherous road back to mine. god, i should be watching the chelsea game.

wait – there’s some guy beside me just hunched over? he’s not moving at all, just bent over at the waist. he’s not even folding, it’s just a straight touch-your-toe stance. it’s actually impressive. he’s snoring? i am just going to leave.

okay, i am in a bus now. i walked a bit, using my jacket to cover the shawarma in my bag. and the laptop, of course. the road is closed for repairs so there were no buses or kekes for a while.

@ sabo, the bus stops to pick up a passenger. he looks at me, implying i should shift. i don’t want to. the seat beside me sucks. he raises his voice and i stare at him. he says “please.” i shift. he drops before i do so i take back the seat.

i feel so cold and i am in so much pain. the breeze and rain have soaked through my clothes, my skin, and reached these arthritic joints. it hurts so bad.

…i am walking on the road now. the driver decided to take a route that was off mine. i discover this as he makes a turn so i hurriedly jump off and begin walking again. for a while i can’t shake off the feeling that something is missing. then it hits me, it’s my jacket.

i confirm that my wallet is safe. my hair starts to itch. it always does that when i am under the rain. i must have left it on the bus because i was in a hurry to get down. it was my favourite jacket. i scratch my hair, digging my fingernails in until i draw blood from my scalp. i wish it good luck and a good life. i hope whoever finds it and uses it treats it well. i dig my nails in the resulting wound, deriving solace from the wet, nasty, flesh squishing between my fingers. the rain begins to pour down again. oh well, another item to add to the birthday wish list. i sigh and keep trudging on. there’s nothing else to do.

home now. time to eat my shawarma and drink this can of desperadoes and go to bed. tomorrow i will cut the rubber bands of the twists then wash my hair. tonight, i will sleep, hoping to put this day behind me.

goodnight my darlings. i hope you all had better days than mine.

food count for july 8: super 2 biscuits/rice and beans/shawarma.

water count for july 8: 200-ish. i don’t even feel guilty.

p.s: your guys stopped telling me about your days? what’s that about?