So I’m turning 33 in 2 days time and I’m freaking out a little bit. Its not that I’m uncomfortable getting older, that part I actually enjoy most of the time seeing as how I’m convinced with age comes wisdom and other such feel good nonsense. No, the reason I’m freaking out is this, I’m broke. And I’m single. And I live in my parent’s house in shags. And I’m broke. Are you picking up on my theme here? I’m broke, penniless, no dinero, sina pesa… let me put it this way, if I was a country, I’d be fourth world. Dude, I am broker than Bhutan
Plan 1
I’m running for MP in 2012. I don’t really need to give any reasons do I?
Plan 2
I’m looking for a rich widower to marry. Apparently, women today have taken to scanning obituaries in an attempt to find a man, and while I initially wrote said women off as desperate cows in need of counselling, I am starting to appreciate the brilliance of this plan. Think about it, the man is grieving so he's not a particularly discerning customer, lower standards mean higher chances for the more aesthetically challenged amongst us. If he has kids then he’s in dire need of a new house keeper, definitely the fast track to marriage for anyone willing to play mommy to his brats, and he’s willing to pay well for your services. Amoral? Yes! Brilliant? Definitely!!
Plan 3
I’m applying for a job as a security guard. I figure I’ll do my time for a year or two, then I’ll heist a bank, or an ATM, or an armoured truck, and retire to a deserted island.
Plan 4
If all else fails, I plan to run my sister over with a tractor. Why? Because she has named me her beneficiary in all her insurance policies and her will, and she drives a Range Rover, so I’m sure there’s money somewhere (unless of course she’s one of those weekend millionaires who hire flashy cars on the weekend and spend their weekdays on the Citihoppa, but I digress…).
At this point you’re probably wondering why I don’t just go out and get a job like the rest of you hard working Kenyans, right? But alas, that’s not the reason I’m perpetually broke. I have a job, a good one I thought, until my sister went and bought a Range Rover, and now my parents have consigned me to the ‘ne’er do well dustbin of disappointment’, although I suspect I was thrown in said bin years ago once they realised their little girl, now fully grown woman, had no intentions of leaving the nest. In their defence, however, it has to be admitted that my attempts to build a timber shack in their garden, down near the river, 2 years ago, may have confirmed their suspicions, but, again, I digress…
My problem is that my siblings (I spit on them…) are just so bloody successful, all of them, can’t seem to put a foot wrong! And me, the brightest and most brilliant, if only in my deluded head, nothing! So all my seemingly great achievements simply pale in comparison to their Range Rovers and Audis and bloody Jettas, despite my brilliance. There’s one I think I might eventually catch up with, in theory, but that’s only because she’s the conservative, thereby appearing to be less well off than the rest, but I’ve seen her bank statements and she is richer than freaking Croesus , so all pretence at catch-up will be just that, pretence.
So, what is to be done? Well, assuming I do not go ahead with plan number 4 involving the tractor, perhaps its time to take stock of my seemingly unsuccessful life and figure out a plan for my future that does not include filial homicide. All this is being done with a view to finding the much talked about ‘sense of fulfilment’ you often read about, in those self help books that teach you to rely on oneself (perhaps the best way to rely on oneself is by not reading another self’s random mutterings?). Allegedly, when one is at peace with oneself, then all else shall flow forth. I know, it sounds like a load of bull, but I’ve tried everything else, so why not?
