Yesterday was a busy day. First of all I totally mistook my morning rhythm. My bio clock is now heavily regulated by the Thyrax. Instead of a nice long sleep, the morning started with an energy outburst. Somewhere around four am inspiration in the field of writing found it’s way from the brain to the tips of my fingers. That is the thumbs. Blogging from a cellphone only concerns two thumbs with short nails. If you want to speed up the blogging.

So I stood mistakingly one hour too early well dressed and make up ready in the living room. And waiting for nothing is such a waste of time.

The sun pulled at me. Big warm sunrays are hard to resist and the bike was available. Going earlier than planned was the only acceptable choice. And you know all about the one minutes of freedom.

At the end of the session; when I already was using my spare battery; I had only one hour to recharge before my hair would be fixed.

Back at the house my hair would be braided with extensions. And that’s a long sit. Tiny needle stings when the dry hair fights the comb. Each braid adds more weight to the scalp and each moment my head becomes a more imporant expression of human decorational skills. My identity is about to change. From short afro to long curly fantasy. The hair is not real, so I provide any spectator the illusion of another me.

Well pretty looks and moderate pain come in pairs. The longer I sit the more I hear my inner voice wrestling against the sleep. Instead of trying to fall asleep my body pumps more human energy drink into the vains. My muscles become itchy overactive. Hours later I squeeze a thank you from my lips, show the result to my daughter and like a decorated Christmas tree crash on the couch.

The night is a big challenge. With so much hair on the head it makes acrobatic moves to find the best way to sleep. African men have slept on wooden headstools for centuries. But that information is of not much use. It doesn’t work and I toss and turn the rest of the night.

And this morning I’m free again. My head and throat tell the level of fuel that is left. Flu creeps up from the neck to my eyes and with sunglasses I crash on the couch. I want to attend a hearing this evening, but than I have to lie down now.

It is however funny to lie on a couch as a diva when actually no one is here to show it to. And diva’s need a public, audience or a platform. But since technology is heading more and more to virtual reality. And fantasy rich and creative persons have had never a lack of virtuality. It runs in the veins and this virtual diva has no problem with that. She merely is an early adapter of a new way of living.

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