Monday 19 September 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

07:20p.m., Tuesday, 8 March 2016

Happy Precious Memories.

Been a while since I said that.

I think I'm ready to escape the rat-race. Permanently. I'm not even sure how I landed here in the first place -- being as entrepreneurially minded as I am, but it was a necessary and invaluable journey that's put me far closer to where I need to be. Closer than I would've ever been had I not taken it.

I love my job, but I don't want to be complacent. When it's time to move on, I will. There's just so much to do and see, and I'm afraid being confined behind my desk won't help much in that regard.

I'd still love to spend a year or two travelling the world before I settle down, and I doubt I'll ever get to do that on the 9-5 cycle.

I'd eventually like to buy my time back.

TTS: Interludes of Life


21:52 p.m., Thursday, 18 August 2016
Home

He crossed my mind twice these past couple of days. I still wonder if he thinks of me; if he feels like an assholed punk for doing what he did. 

But karma. HA!

Thing is, I was always confused. And for the first time today, I admitted to myself that he left me feeling disappointed. And hurt. Just when I thought I was ready to let my guard down and fall hopefully in love, he pulled the rug from under my feet and woke me to yet another awful reality. For a change, I want to write my feelings as they come without censoring myself. I don't think he's remorseful though. As shitty as it feels thinking about it, I know it's true. I pretended like the meteor never touched me. But it blow up in my face and it scarred. Maybe not necessarily because of him, but because no one wants to ever feel let down. 

It's a strange thing, this loneliness. I'm not lonely-lonely, but I often do miss male affection and companionship on an intimate level. I just never want to feel like I'm doing the settling thing. God, that's far worse than anything I know. And I'm terribly bad at it.

I'm usually overcome by this destabilising feeling of social pressure when around couples, or at malls, or banks. I tend to feel like I'm one of those manufactured human beings, being groomed into consumerism, milked for my labour and brainwashed into stupidity. I feel I'm deliberately exhausted by "life" itself and forced into a constant state of routine so that I never amount to anything more than an overrated underachiever, glorified brand whore and corporate blind sheep. 

I can't begin to express how nauseated I am at the thought of being plied with romantic garbage that wouldn't float in my waters for even a minute. As much of a romantic I am, I'm mindboggingly cynical about what relationships mean to me. I'm not sure I even know yet. I just know they should feel less like playing Mommy and Daddy, and more like living in a natural friendship. Romantic relationships often feel too orchestrated. “Do this if you want her to love you. Say that if you want him to fall head over heels in love with you. Walk on toothpick soled shoes and tie a modern noose around your neck if you want him/her to find you attractive. Be a lot less like yourself. Be more like the processed boys and girls you see online.” I can't stand it. Everything about us feels like something we were told to be, or do. It overwhelms me at times. (If I sound like one of those conspiracy theorists, or love cynics who bombard the world of social media, I'm off to a good start.) It really does scare me. And it overwhelms me just as much. It's no wonder very often, I feel saturated by information and sensory overload. I simply want to be. Just. Be. Even for one minute each day. I know I've unconsciously put myself in this position because I allow myself to be sucked further into this illusive vacuum on a daily basis, but I'm glad I have the awareness to realise when I've gone terribly wrong. 

Now back to the romantic relationship part… I don't mean to sound like a hypocrite. I love love. I love anything that seems to be associated with love. I just don't appreciate the pretentious, unnatural, predictable assumed side to it. All that romantic stuff that makes us swoon – the sweet texts, surprise gifts, handwritten letters… that's all fine. I just have issues with the way we speak about the realities of relationships in movies, TV shows, social media, magazines. It's sickening, actually. I don't buy what any of these folks are selling. Not the Insta pictures. Not the Facebook statuses. Nothing. 

But "L"... he was love. 

And Pumla and Nici are love.

And my parents are love. 

And my loved ones are love. 

And I am love. 

And life is love. 

Love is all I need. 

Saturday 3 September 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

12:59 p.m., Saturday, 3 September 2016
VOW

I can't remember the last time I was intimate with my bed since August commenced. I mean lazing about, with two or so books lingering some place between my comforter and pillows -- just the way I like it. Having absolutely nothing to do is a bliss. Truth be told, I haven't given my reading as much attention as I should. I seem to always be rushing through pages, and reading only on my way to, and occasionally from work. There's just so much to read, and I'm impatient to get through the best stuff. In 2014, I read 42 books. This year, I've barely finished six. It's embarrassing, really, and tarnishing to my competitive spirit. It's not too late, though, I can still catch up once things go back to normal.

I must say, I'm enjoying all the sequential outdoor activity. It's wonderful meeting new people, so is shyly ogling at a gorgeous, secretly flirtatious man before he offers to buy me a drink. And we ogle more tonight at RMBA in Newtown! I'm more excited for tomorrow's one with Black Coffee at Zone 6 in Soweto. I've never seen him live, and I'm in no way an ardent fan, but his music tends to have a strong hold over me.

Again, I gotta go. Got a braai in Greenstone to attend first.

Friday 2 September 2016

TTS: Interludes of Life

21h02 p.m., Friday, 2 September 2016
VOW fm

I feel obliged to send a special shout out to The Perfect Stranger. I had 36 page views today, and I feel he may be responsible for all of them. Hi, there! Thanks again for the incredible gift. I'm prepping myself (in other words, procrastinating) for a short story writing competition I'm entering this month, and the gift, The Paris Reviews: Object Lessons, couldn't have come at a better time. Here's the thing about getting books as gifts that blows me away: there are millions of books in the world. A few hundred thousands at a warehouse. Thousands at a library. Hundreds at a bookstore. And that one precious gem -- seemingly by magic, ends up in your hands. Of course, a party-pooper will come from somewhere and add that CDs and clothing are manufactured the same way, but someone can know your favourite artist or your favourite print and remember that forever. You could argue that people could know your favourite author, too, but the arduous task of going through a bookstore -- considering taste, genre and readability, looking for the right book, can't be compared to picking the perfect pair of earrings. It's a carefully thought out gift, and the person probably considered a lot (most likely eve stalked you) to get it right. That's why I treasure all my books.


My sister's complaining that I'm writing this instead of partying the night away, so I gotta go...

Goodnight, folks!