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Day 20

I danced! Like the odd ball funky Princess that I am.

Went to Jokers and I didn’t have a crew; the sisters and Ndeshitja sat outside nursing their drinks and a pizza – while I was inside on the dance floor, fucking dancing to the music.

I only spazzed out once – when my paranoid mind told me that Phillip, Lelo and co. were involved in an orgy on his floor, and here I was being a dunce.

But, you know what Nambahu did? She danced. No brooding or pondering, the girl went on the dance floor and disrupted the status quo with her moves. She didn’t dance like other people, in the groove or even in the same beat.

I danced selfishly. Owning my moves, I didn’t even care to share. I appreciated what others were doing but my body, my mind wanted to do its own thing ..because that’s generally how I roll anyway.

I came home, because the others were “exhausted”. I could’ve dance all night long, like that time at Kokos – walking out to 7am sunlight. Not tonight though, we came home. I did a bit of dancing to Michael Jackson to spend the excess energy.

I’m tired now. Sleepy.

Inspector Frost beckons me.

Phillip didn’t have an orgy with Lelo and the other girls. He’s in bed now. I guess some time I’m going to have to have a conversation about why I think that he’ll be unfaithful to me; especially considering the type of person he is.

Not now though.

Why do today, what you can do tomorrow.

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Day 19

Sitting here at the computer, (the house in Windhoek)

I’ve been writing a story. I want to finish it and send it out into the world.

I had my second driving lesson today. The driving instructor (Marvin/Marvelous) , is going to be a bit of an experience. I can almost drive, in the practical sense, I can. In the regular sense, I have a little way to go.

I drank two quarts of black label. I want to go out tonight to dance and drink more. I have no money though, so I am dependent on Pj wanting to go out, if she does, then she’ll sponsor me. If not then perhaps a dry/sober walk with Ndeshitja. It won’t be bad. I don’t need to drink any more to be honest … that’s not going to stop me from sneaking a glass from Nuusiku’s bottle of vino. It’s sweet and white.

Phillip’s at his engineering dance with Lelo (and Jeremy and a girl with a name). I wonder how long it’ll take him to message me. Midnight? 3 am? The next morning? 5 minutes from now? Soon enough to banish the thought that he’s only with me for emotional comfort?… I could play the victim but upon closer inspection…

Do I say that as a guard against vulnerability? … I’m not answering that now.

Anyway… I hope to dance tonight. I want to go out. Drink 2 shots of tequila and another beer and dance my ass off.

My sisters probably aren’t the best people to do that with though. They have their own idea of a good night out.

Day 18

It’s Saturday afternoon, going for evening.

I’m drinking wine. A Claret.

Watching A Touch of Frost on YouTube, the 3rd maybe 4th episode of the day.

I took a few painkillers. Not to kill any pain or… myself, no. They had codeine in them, which I’m attracted to. The waviness appeals to me.

Anyway, I was wondering to myself why I enjoy being altered. Drugs appeal to me for the otherness. The onset of good strong painkillers (or cough medicine) floods my system and I feel enjoyable. I drink wine and beer and ciders, and when I do, I feel enjoyable.

I was wondering why, when I broadened the scope of my inquiry. I wonder to myself now, why we all (humans) do stuff. We spend our time constantly numbing ourselves, or avoiding ourselves, or submerging ourselves, or covering ourselves up. Distracting ourselves with activity. I wonder why we’re trying to get away from …ourselves.

Why am I trying to get away from myself? In a series, with painkillers, with liquor.

Everything is a form of escape – drugs, alcohol, writing, reading, running, music, dancing, clubbing, work, walking, video games, reality tv, newspapers, social gatherings, sex, affairs, fighting, football, talking, swimming, gambling, loafing, bingeing …

Phillip said that maybe we don’t really belong here, by here I think he meant in this “reality”. Maybe we’re being called home, and escapism is us trying to touch the source. To go home.

I don’t know, I think I’ll think on it for a while.

Day 17

being bugged by the whisper behind the curtain

I’m beginning to be annoyed with myself. There is something bothering me – a formless something that has decided to follow me around and demand that I go after it. It’s wearing on me and I’m tired.

I can’t rely on autopilot at this stage.. I wouldn’t get anywhere, there is no plan, no flight path, no destination set. Formless and pressing against the windows of my chest. Demanding that I go after it, that I let it in or let it out… depending on my perspective.

I know that it’s pressing against the window, staring at me, following me around, demanding to be acknowledged. I feel it every sing day.

It’s doing so for a reason.

I don’t even want it to go away. But I don’t know what to do.

Scream! Yell! Thrash yourself around. Make a scene. Make yourself known. Violent and undeniable. Don’t just sit there and wait for me to find you out. Tell me. Tell me.

Something, what do you want me to do? What do you want me to do?

What are you? What do you want me to do? How can I let you out? Are you trying to get in? What do I do?to let you out?

 

 

Day 16

Drinking wine. Drostdyhof – Adelpracht. Fruity and sweet. Chilled. Perfect for this dry heat. It’s half past 4.

I spent the week in Durban. It’s not hot there.

Arsenal won yesterday. They beat West Bromwich Albion. Johnny Evans is skinny. Sead Kolasinac is a buffalo.

There are several papayas in this kitchen. Mama brought them back with her from the North. She too spent the week away from home.

Ngeno is practicing his reading and writing. Re-working the 10 commandments. His spelling needs a make over but it’s good that he’s writing without a hang-up.

I ironed my mom’s dress and prepared lunch.

I dreamed of Nala and Scorpio – that they had come back. Scorpio wasn’t beautiful any longer, it looked like he’d been in a bunch of street fights. Nala was walking on two legs (Shawn The Sheep-esque)

I feel uprooted. Exposed to the elements. Vulnerable to the wind. I don’t feel secure. Where is security? In Durban? In Windhoek? I need to know where I live. Where can my mind live? In a bottle ..? In a song?

What’s the next small step kiddo?

Something to see me through the year, the time passes anyway.

Funk

Not the genre. The mood. The depressive incapacity. The head space that doesn’t allow for anything to be done. August found me in a funk;August’s almost gone and I’m still in that funk. September, October, November, December.

The only thing I seem to give a crap about are the plants. Otherwise, the day is a burden and the night is a weight. It’s one hell of a funk. Nothing really penetrates the clouds that surround my head and my energy. I can’t see anything to do. I may start drinking. At least until my way becomes clear to me.

My left knee fucked out, the last two times I went fast on the treadmill.

Funk. Funk. Funk.

 

Day 15

Half way through 30 days.

Woah.

Maybe I need to think about this post more seriously. If I am 15 ‘days’ from the beginning where am I now? Where am I now?

I am here. Windhoek, learner’s license, a vermicompost site, 3 plants in a pot, chilli plants on the side walk, lettuce seeds in the ground, onion stalks sticking out of the ground. I am here.  4 maybe 5 Korean soapies completed. Read a few books, finishing the Lord of the Rings, finally finally read Cloud Atlas (thank you Phillip). I am here. Smoked no cigarettes for 3 months, then smoked a pack in 2 weeks. Ran a 10 km in a marathon, spent 1 hour on the treadmill every so often. Made it through winter. Had 1 argument. I sent my application to UKZN yesterday. I have written 3 articles and a few blog posts. Spoken to my ex twice. Speak to my guy every day. I have seen 1 beautiful sunset while running. I am here.

 

Yeah, I guess that’s where I am.

Maybe it’ll come to me.