Who dried all the flowers to make tea?

I decided to buy an overpriced pack of herbal tea bags the other day. I did this for a number of reasons. The obvious and first being that I am trying to be more mindful of the things I consume, after all, I am not getting any younger. I do not want to see doctors any more than I absolutely have to. I am not a breakfast person too so I was looking to spice up my cup of tea, you know, make it more exciting for me to have breakfast on those mandane mornings at my desk; a little aroma and what not.

So anyway I bought the tea bags. But let us back up a bit. Where I work, tea and coffee are the order of the day. We have flasks all over the place to consolidate this. We drink gallons, some of us to stave off the dehydrating effects of the moody air-conditioning system which is blowing dry cold wind up your nostrils one minute then sputtering wafts of lazy warm air the next. Others drink because they are not in the habit of letting that sh300-mandazi go down on its own. Some others cannot envision a long evening of reading the writers’ work that is mentally castrating without a cup of something…anything. The rest drink tea because it is what they have been doing for the 20 something years they have worked in the newsroom. Their coffee mugs are as attached to their hands as their keyboards are. So of course I thought, I MUST fit in no? Yes. So I drank a lot of tea in the first few months. But then I noticed the steaming liquid in some people’s cups was red, sometimes green, murky brown or right out black.

See those dregs, reminding me of kilishi…sigh

So I went in search of personalised tea bags too. I was inclined to think these things reflected your mood in some way. I wanted to tap into the ever flowing fountain of bliss my supervisor seems to have. She drinks red tea you see. I have looked into the bottom of her cup. The dregs are not like the little spots from the regular mukwano tea that Aunt Felly serves. Her’s are like strips of stir fried beef.

My new tea bags are pyramids…and I can see many colors inside. My tea smells like oranges now. It should bring me happiness and productive juices. I need it. The box says orange blossom hibiscus.

Who makes these things? We are now drinking flowers.

The only thing I know about hibiscus is that it was a very common plant when we were growing up. We sucked the nectar out of them and ripped off petals to get to stigma. That little yellow thing…then we stuck it to our noses. Teachers always used them as examples when we were studying about the reproductive system of flowers (yeah, I know, somehow after studying about other species’ reproductive ways, it just feels wrong to imagine flowers ALSO have REPRODUCTIVE organs.) I even perfected drawing those petals.

I have not seen these flowers in a while. I mean, back then (the 90’s) we did not even KNOW or CARE that they were called HIBISCUS! They were just some reaalllly common-ass flowers. And why oh why do they suddenly look pretty? These flowers were in the same category as bougainvillea but now see…they’re like flower royalty. Chimamanda went and even wrote a book titled Purple Hibiscus. Gee, I remember only red and whitish ones.

No one seems to be using them as perimeter bushes any more. Everyone has a wall fence. Someone has gone and dried them all so we can buy them and drink. Of course if we had known this back then we’d all be very rich and very healthy, but let me drink my tea…but then again there is all this business about hibiscus not being good for fertility and bla bla… for women…so maybe I should not drink my tea.

There were even yellow ones?

I have not seen these flowers in a while. I mean, back then (the 90’s) we did not even KNOW or CARE that they were called HIBISCUS! They were just some reaalllly common-ass flowers that every home had shrubs of. And why oh why do they suddenly look pretty? These flowers were in the same category as bougainvillea but now see…they’re like flower royalty. Chimamanda went and even wrote a book titled Purple Hibiscus. Gee, I remember only red and whitish ones.
No one seems to be using them as perimeter shrubs any more. Everyone has a wall fence.

The perimeters of our homes were kind of like this, without the picket fence…we had no fear of iron bar hit men back then.

Someone has gone and dried them all so we can buy them and drink. Of course if we had known this back then we’d all be very rich and very healthy, but let me drink my tea…but then again there is all this business about hibiscus not being good for fertility and bla bla… for women…so maybe I should not drink my tea.

I want to be young again

I find myself throwing what I believe are childish mental tantrums a lot lately. This is especially when something is not going my way, as with kids. Today, after for hours of trying to lay a page, (6hours to be exact, well to be honest I was laying three others as well, but yeah…anyway) my boss decided my layout would just not work. I would have to shift about a few things here and there. I was visibly upset. I stumped my foot (mentally) and screwed up my face in real life . This was NOT going to be fun.

1. Why does she insist on “house style” all the bloody time!!

2. Why is she so meticulous!?

3. If she had looked at the network thingie like she is supposed to I would have changed this earlier (she’s too busy honestly but I am not on her side right now)

4. Why can’t we just drop the extra bits and live the page with two stories instead of 4?

All these questions harrumphed through my mind. Even louder was the thought that today is a Sunday, could we all just try and get home early? No? We must slave away having arrived at 8am and be expected to arrive at 8am again tomorrow? OKAY!! I KNOW I DO NOT HAVE A LIFE AND DO NOT ACTUALLY WANT TO GO HOME EARLY BUT I DO NOT WANT TO WORK LATE BY FORCE EITHER! AND WHY ARE YOU SAYING I CAN DO IT? HUH? HUH? Why you using that sing song voice saying “yes we can”? AAAARRGGGHHHHH

This is how I feel…this child/painter relays my feelings wonderfully. Thank you Google.

Earlier on in the day, someone opened my page and started working on it when it was clear the line-up said I was doing that page. One of the supervisors came and asked if I could do her page instead since I had not started the work already. I said no. I had mentally prepared to do that page since last night…no way was I letting it go to start one completely different. Of course, you will think I was being totally unreasonable. Trust me, I was telling myself exactly that but I stood my ground. Expecting myself to say, oh…its alright…I will do her page. Nope. With every passing minute I just decided they’d sort it out on their own. I wasn’t shifting posts. Eventually I did get my way. Not so much with the layout thingie…
The longer I sat sulking, the longer I would be at work. I decided to get on with it. Thirty or so minutes later, the page was done. It actually looked decent. I had had to reword the headline and throw out a few stylistic devices here and there but overall, it wasn’t too bad. I told myself that, see Tracy, it worked out okay didn’t it? And I shrugged at myself, unwilling to accept defeat.
I suppose sometimes the tantrums are justified but it is really amusing to sit down and think, now what all the fuss about? I ended up having to do the page. I knew I would have to but I still sulked.
This is where I say I really need to stop this whining and get on with what need to be done but gosh, growing up isn’t much fun is it?

TAKE AWAY: I want to re-learn how throw a tantrum and NOT know I am going to have to do what I am whining about anyway.

Sigh…and to think that one day, some young little something is going to do much worse to me than I was doing to my boss (she probably did not even notice, too tired poor thing).