Letter to my (very few) friends

Let’s kick it old school. Back when you put something down in black and white to put some views across. This doesn’t entail writing low-grade English on a piece of (green) toilet paper like you did to your first girlfriend when she said she wanted to wait a little longer before kissing you. I just think some things are better left unsaid. Not because I am too afraid or shy or scared to say them, but because you ensure that I’m never mentally equipped to piece together a meaningful statement. And if I try, I might stammer so much that it’ll paint the mood grey.

I love my friends to death. In return, you are trying to make sure my death approaches as exponentially fast as mathematically possible. I love hanging out with people so much so that I can confidently say I’m cool to be around. The problem is that every once in a while, I want to be by my fucking self. I would love to chill in my drawers all day without any of you pounding on my door…say once a week. Make that twice a week.

It is sad enough that the only things I like are writing and watching movies. This line of life sucks. I know. But I’d appreciate it if you understood that it’s the only life I know. So please, don’t make those long ass “free” Warid or orange or zain or celtel or whatever calls when I’m trying to concentrate on something even if it is as boring as The Firm.

And enough with the sarcastic laughter, don’t recycle my jokes in an attempt to get my attention.

If I do not call you back, it is probably because I don’t want to lie to you. Ok, I might want to lie to you but I may not think of something that fast and you might not buy it. So please text and give me time to come up with a sensible lie. I hate phones. Mostly because they make it impossible for me to stay secluded. You know how you switch off your phone for five hours and then everyone starts ranting crazily as though Abed Bwanika just took over government?

I do.

They say a friend in need is a friend indeed. I don’t even know which saying applies to y’all. Every time I’m in shit, y’all say stuff like, “man, you are the shit! How did you get into so much shit! Dude, you’re so fucking awesome!”

What?

Even when we all know you are the one that got me in trouble and I’m going to pay simply because…well, better me than you. The humanitarian in me cannot let me not take the fall for any of you. Because your dipsomania makes it possible for me to feed my sousing craze and because without you, dear friends with weed…I have no friends indeed.

I love you all.

Sincerely,

Me.