of having coffee with me

If we were having coffee #coffeeshare

A cup of goodness shared with a virtual stranger

An orange coffee mug

If we were having coffee together it would be at my house (I don’t trust coffee from the coffee shops around here maybe I haven’t been to a good one as yet *hint hint* but the few places I have tried the coffee tastes bitter and temporary like the Styrofoam cups its served in and I prefer to drink my own brew)  we would sit outside (the house is a mess, creativity thrives in chaos and would not want you to think I am more weird than I already am *talks to self*) Its winter here but the sun is shining ever so beautifully today, you would sit in the sun with me. I would bring out the garden chairs and tell you how I bought them at a bargain from my neighbour but to mind the wires sticking out would not want you to snag your outfit which I complimented you on (as well as your hair) when I first saw you  or worse get scratched. The chairs a bit rusty, you might catch something nasty like writer’s block.

We would have to wait awhile for the coffee mugs to dry as I had just washed them and they are out on the line drying (and I do not have any dish towels, actually I do but I could not find them) you know how in those crime TV series forensic detectives can tell that a murdered victim had company for dinner by looking at the two plates in the sink, well here they would think I live with an army of a dozen hungry bears)

I would offer you either coffee or herbal tea with cinnamon and honey served in coffee mugs labelled orange.  I would tell you I like mine black just like my soul and laugh at your horrified expression I am only joking I say and you laugh.  I pass a plate of toast and a jar of maple syrup, please help yourself I tell you and you notice the ink stains. Why do you have ink on your hands you ask me, I could not find paper I reply and giggle like a boy with a secret.

Between sips I ask you how it is going, the writing, I know you like to talk but that’s ok I am a good listener and I love your voice I could listen to you talk about anything and find it fascinating. After a little while I notice you have stopped talking and are looking at me funny. I am sorry I must have started daydreaming, my mind wanders, I was wondering if you dye your hair, you think I am staring, you ask if you have something on your teeth. I laugh and say you have perfect teeth like tiny white tombstones you giggle tell me I am impossible.

You want to keep talking about your book and I say wait it’s my turn now, my turn is a no talking turn, and pull out my journal, it’s black with a red spine and has the letter B embossed in the bottom right corner, read it I say.

I watch you read and refill my cup. I ask if you are going to finish your toast, you don’t look up you simply shake your head and keep reading. Eventually you ask me if I wrote this I say no my twin brother did it he is the writer. You laugh again and say liar you do not have a twin. You ask me why I do not update my blog regularly. I laugh uneasily, well, you see I am afraid nobody would want to read my silly musings or they make fun of my dreams (they are so fragile creatures dreams) I am afraid of critics and being told I am not as good as I imagine myself and also I fear trolls not the ones that live under the bridge and steal your socks but only the ones for the left foot but the nasty characters that live in the worldwide web.

Suddenly we notice how time has flown past I guess we were having fun. This was fun we should do it again sometime. I think you make a good muse I tell you as  I walk you to the gate and wave you off, oh I had almost forgot the piece you read in my journal I did post it up and give you the link on a folded piece of paper written in my clumsy hand how it all begun

I promise to try to work on my blog on a more regular basis if you promise to read it. Nice try you say and skip away. I sit in the sun once more but by myself now and the ink stain catches my eye I spread out my hand and read the message on my hand I really should not have used permanent ink.

paper for skin

of teabags and disposing of the trash

It has been months or is it weeks or days even, I forget (time doesnt fly when you are not having fun) and the city fathers aren’t being efficient in their garbage collection service.

no dead bodies in there keep walking

no dead bodies in there keep walking nothing to see here

(It’s a nightmare carrying back those black plastic trash bags into the yard, at the end of the day, after having put them outside, by the gate early-bird-gets-the-worm-morning and not to mention the stray dogs that been picking at your trash like detectives looking for evidence of what you had for supper last night)

I have resorted to disposing of trash by myself (and I do not mean by carrying the offending garbage a long long way to walk and dumping it in a shallow grave as if it’s a dead body… confession I might have done that once or twice but I am now a friend of the universe my aura is ecofriendly green)

I recycle what I can and also have a compost maturing in the backyard for that organic fertilizer fix.

Being the obsessive-compulsive that I am I sort out the trash via a regime that is rivalled only by the one I impose on my laundry (sorting by color and material in alphabetical order and not to mention color coded pegs, obviously clothes on the hangers in the wardrobe all face the side naturally)

I sort the trash into:


(paper, plastic, cardboard, which I light up into a big bonfire sorry universe I see carbon footprint but heck my totem is fire)

Bglass and metals

(that gets collected by scrap metal and empty bottle collection agents and they even pay to get it off your hands. Note to self must find out what they do with it probably makes them more money than they pay me)



(this goes into the compost for the garden)

Now the thing which currently has me stumped is what to do with teabags!! It’s winter lots of tea is being had so enter Teabags stage front.

They can’t exactly go into the biodegradables, but I can’t put them with the flammables(hard to burn even when dry) and they are most certainly not glass 😛

Unless if I rip them open dump the tea leaves inside in with the biodegradables, dry up the paper bits and then into the bonfire they go, but that’s so much work any ideas?

*Decisions decisions*

PS… and disposable diapers, (my twin nephews where visiting and left twin trash-bags of diapers) they are not exactly flammable, in fact the moisture absorbing gel technology inside makes them downright flame resistant.

If a baby wearing diapers should ever catch fire (Lord forbid) I think the only thing you would find left… (you don’t want to even try to visualise..)

PPS… And that gets me thinking when the trashman take the trash away how exactly do they dispose of it?

  • do they just dig up a giant hole fill with trash and cover it….
  • Industrial grade incinerators

Future archaeologists are going to have fun figuring out how we poisoned the Earth. Did you know you could grow tiny plants in tea bags using the teaa leaves as manure? How I learnt this “hydroponic” projects is unimportant and a story for another day ask me nicely about it 🙂

…..and then the trashman cometh

Of Recovering Private Yahoo

yahoo log in

I have been trying without success to log into my Yahoo account which is more or less my personal primary email account. I have had it for frankly quite a long long time, it was my second email address after I forgot my first username completely (something ridiculously pretentious like Representingtillforever2 I presume) or maybe it got deactivated because servers would automatically delete your account if you did not log in for a certain period of time, we will never know.

Email account creating used to be such a big deal back then and some people even paid to get it done (I was paid once or twice to do said procedure). I wouldn’t blame them the process could easily take 2 hours on the internet partly due to slow internet in a net café and you had to complete an online form that required more details than a VISA application procedure. The form would not submit if even a single field was left blank then you’d have to start all over again, (Field cannot be blank)  not to mention the tricky ZIP Code bit. Zimbabwe has no Zip Codes on addresses, so you had to pick a different country, make up an address that had a ZIP Code and not only that it had to be the correct one for said state. I had a fictitious Boulevard in Beverly Hills 90210 address.

So enter the second email address I ever created. Thinking this time I would do it right, a proper username and password, made sure I logged in regularly (every 3months) even if I had few people to email and even fewer who emailed back, mostly chain messages, spam and notifications from Hi5.

I even suffered through that ghastly change from Yahoo Mail Classic to Introducing Yahoo Beta.

And here we are easily 15 years later and I cannot log in to my Yahoo email address because the silly thing keeps saying either my username or my password is invalid.

How am I supposed to know which one is invalid: Guessing games

Password or username?

Why be so secretive about it?….

I tried so many times the account got locked and was advised to log in via desktop. (Had been trying on my phone all along,  guess its not as smart as its makers claim)

I can only come up with 3 explanations:

  • I got hacked and somebody changed my password.
  • A bug or glitch in the system
  • Or maybe neither is wrong and the system is simply punishing me for negligence after my migration to “that other email service” because it’s easier to setup and it syncs with my wickedly clever phone, apps, contacts and cloud storage at the click of a button (less of a click and more of the tap of a screen icon but that’s neither here nor there)

Anyhow finally I got to password reset options.

After a most interesting journey through memory lane as I struggled to answer security questions younger me thought I would always remember:

  • My second name…
  • My best friend…
  • My first grade teacher…,
  • My favourite musician  …
  • What do I have in my pockets…

I almost failed the “easy” security questions for the answers were certainly more than they seemed. I had to pause and applaud the sheer genius that is the mysterious ways young me thought, I can’t write the answers here for security reasons obviously (I will however tell you that I do not have a second name and field cannot be left blank)

Know this though, anyone else, who isn’t me, who doesn’t know me as well as I know myself, would have failed the security questions but then that kinda is the whole point.

*smug look*

And FYI I just changed the security protocol for the new password recovery options so don’t be getting any ideas.

Ok finally got to password recovery settings:

Please create a new password.

*And if the password is weak it refuses to let you proceed (whats the deal, I mean its my password I understand the risk of it being easy to hack let me be but noooooo password too weak it insists)

…and for all we know the demands on the requirements for a strong password might as well as read:

  • Your password must contain at least 8 characters,
  • one of those a capital letter,
  • one a numeric character,
  • a verb,
  • an adjective,
  • a noun,
  • a mysterious symbol,
  • an element from the periodic table
  • and a plot containing a schizophrenic insomniac ending with a surprising twist,

For your: “Convenience” and “Security

And that is why I will probably forget my new password and why I most likely won’t remember it once I log out.

Till the next time


PS I just remembered I don’t remember my WordPress Password and my recovery email is the yahoo one, oh boy ..so if I never post again

 *clicks stay logged on*