The Writers' Circle

It was a very cold morning and I cannot quite remember if I woke up on the right or left side of the bed. I only recall vividly that a nagging headache accompanied by a frown were the first features of that morning. What a way to start the day!

I glanced at the clock hanging beautifully on my room wall wondering if it had the powers to change the course of my day but all it could do for me was tell me the time. It said a quarter past 6.00am. I quickly fumbled through my bedside drawer for my Bible and got down on my knees to pray. Surely, that should change the direction my day had decided to follow. I stood up to straighten the rough sheets that showed evidence of what must have been a very rough night. Just as I started to tuck in the sheets on the left side of the bed, a tiny piece of wood got stuck in the thumb on my right hand and that made me wince in pain. How on earth was I supposed to carry on with the household chores I had lined up in front of me with a bleeding and hurting thumb?

I sat on the bed and thought aloud. "Why my right thumb of all ten fingers? Surely I can not do much with an injured right thumb, can I? What do I do now"? I quickly decided to apply some first aid to the injury and get out as fast as I could from the room that did not promise much joy for that day. Just as I was going out of the room, my beautiful soft satin night robe which I cherished so much and which had been given to me as a present from a very special person got caught in the door.  I tried to carefully get it out of the door but it was too late; the damage had already been done. It was torn. I took one last long look at the room and then headed for the kitchen to fix some breakfast.

I filled the kettle with water, put it to boil and then went to freshen up in the bathroom. By the time I came back to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, I poured the water into my tea cup and discovered it was as cold as I left it. My first thought was I had forgotten to switch on the mains but when I tried again and it still would not work, I checked the kettle again and then it clicked in my head. My kettle was broken. How ideal, I thought. There goes my cup of tea. I opened my fridge to see what I could quickly stuff in as breakfast.  It was as good as empty; I ended up with an apple. I checked the time and it was 8.30am. How could so much have happened in barely two hours? I wondered silently.  In a mad rush out of the house, I tripped and fell down. Seconds later, I got up and ran out the door and out of the house. I ran all the way to my bus stop hoping I had not missed my bus.  As the bus drew closer, I determined to sit at the very last row, where I can be in a world of my own. That would give me enough space and time to meditate on what my day had been like up to that moment and probably why as well. Every thing just seemed to go wrong. "Was it mere coincidence, bad luck or fate"? I could not figure it out. It was not long before I was shaken out of my reverie by the driver who announced that he had reached his final destination. I glanced up and noticed the bus was empty; in my oblivion everyone had alighted. I came down, looked around and knew I had gotten on the wrong bus.  "What was I thinking"? I pondered hard but I could not afford to waste any more time as I had so much to do and got on the next available bus back to town, the pain in my back from the previous fall not withstanding. 

My next port of call was the post office. I needed to post some urgent letters and I had no stamps. But I found out that the post office had been closed for some sort of holiday which I had no idea about.  By this time I was between crying and past caring. These letters needed to be mailed out today. Instantly I called my best friend seeking for some succor but her phone went straight into voicemail and I could not dare to leave a message because I knew I would break down before I got past the first line. I had had enough for one day alone. I began to head back home, to where it all began. I lay on my bed about to go into yet another session of thoughts and questions but fortunately for me, sleep got the better part of me. Did I say fortunately? Well, I remember waking up at 9.45pm with a scream. I had been sleeping for over 6 hours and had just awoken from a nightmare. I just had to record this day so I reached for my diary to fill in all that had occurred. 

As I flipped through the pages, I came across a very old picture of me as a child. I was three years old at the time and had a funny pose, standing akimbo as a mischevious smile danced on my face. I put it aside very quickly but picked it up again almost immediately. I looked at it more intently and I smiled. Yes I smiled. It sure felt odd to smile just then especially as it was my first happy moment for that day but I could not help it. The little girl in that photograph was smiling at me; I had to smile back.