15 June 2014 Sunday
On Sundays the city sleeps in. I can actually see where the pavement ends and begins without a sea of people on its edges. I thought I would go out for breakfast but remembered that I was broke and so went to Woolworths to buy some yoghurt for the muesli I have. I wanted to get coffee too because I am all out but it was too expensive and so now I have to drink chicory instead of Jacobs- I never thought I would miss a product named after a man so much.
Today throbbed like a sore thumb, the sun shone but like a shy girl and the wind could not decide which way it wanted to go and so it blew in all directions. Before going to work I tried to tidy my room and removed my underwear that covered the books I got from the library- I don’t know how they got there. I like books, I like to get them from the library because it makes me wonder what kind person was reading the exact same book that I’m reading, it makes me wonder if they liked it or hated it, it makes me wonder of their sex and their lives, if they smelled the book like I do, if the pages were yellow when they were reading it, if there were alone when they were reading it or if they were trying to avoid someone by reading it or if they were reading the book for the sole reason to get closer to someone, how many lives touched the books that I touched and how many were touched by its contents; also it’s a very cheap way to read lots of books. The library in the city always has skateboarders by its stairs- I don’t know what the allure is but they are always there, skating up and down before the stairs that lead to knowledge- I wonder if they have been inside before. I highly doubt it because once you enter a library you always want to go back inside, the love of books is strange; if true love does exist, it is personified in my love for books- I always go back to them, they are many ways in which I escape from life but reading beats drinking, eating, masturbation, sex and socialising. Words are my aphrodisiac.
Today happened but not much happened, I didn’t see a lot of human beings, I was at work counting down the hours to when I could leave, and when I thought I could not get more irritated with the day the trees came alive with the singing of birds so loud I could not hear anything else, darkness had settled itself in like those birds in their nests but oh it was so beautiful, a chorus so harmonious it pulled me out of the murky depths of self pity and then my manager told me I could leave an hour early. Thank you birds.
The world has always been broken, I just did not know- none of us did. And now we are old and trying to fix ourselves and our parents’ mistakes. I remember I used to wake up and watch my mother sleep; for some odd reason when we are young we have no sleep and we get older we cannot get enough of sleep; anyway I used to watch my mother sleep and I think she could sense my eyes following the contours of her face, she would tell me with her eyes closed to get out of bed and make food. I would jump out of bed recklessly in hopes that she would wake up because I was bored when she was asleep and I awake. She would not wake up. I would walk out of the house with the bucket that was half filled with urine (because the house did not have a bathroom inside) and go out to the toilet to empty it; I would then rinse it and hang it upside down behind the toilet to dry. At the time my grandmother had a little vegetable garden, I would look at the corn shoots with pride and then go to the bush that had monkey tomatoes. I don’t know if that is what they are called in English but that’s the name my mother and grandmother gave them. This bush my grandmother did not plant, it somehow shot up on its own- my grandmother and mother would always tell me not to eat the fruit of the tree but you know children don’t listen very much. The fruit looked like tomatoes except they were very very tiny and unlike tomatoes, they were bitter, I enjoyed eating them because I was told not to, because in that moment of morning when dew drops slide down green grass shoots and the birds are feeding and the sun lazily rises and other lonely children like myself loiter the yards of their grandmothers, that moment was everything to me because a few minutes later my grandmother would wake and tell me to do my chores because you know what kind of adult would I become if I did not complete my chores. The world is broken, chores are a reminder of that it cannot be fixed and that brokenness is inevitable.
I am contemplating finishing the bar of dark chocolate I bought and whether I should wash the cup from which I drank hot chocolate. The former will probably happen and the latter probably won’t- I’ll wash it when I feel like it. I haven’t been feeling particularly well, after typing my symptoms into google it suggests I may have a urinary tract infection; I’ll know on Tuesday when I’ll go to the doctor. In the meanwhile I will pop painkillers like their sweets, drink lots of water and eat lots of yoghurt. My braids are heavy and killing my neck but I have no money to change my hairstyle and I’m too lazy to braid my own hair.
A few hours ago I feasted on half of a chicken and half a bar of dark chocolate but I’m still hungry. I can’t eat now, it’s quarter past eleven at night, and I’ll just have to force myself to sleep. The hobo that was missing from his sleeping position a few nights ago is back- I’m happy for him or I guess for myself.
In a state of madness, that is trying to achieve my dreams in a world that remains constantly chaotic, brokenness is not such a bad thing and tomorrow I’ll hopefully wake up early to do my chores: wash my cup and my dirty clothes. I’m not saying it will definitely happen; I just hope it will.
I just got home and I am currently trying to cool down my overly salted noodles. Tonight is cold and not at all beautiful. When the sun set the moon rose full and beautiful, it glowed as if it was on a CGI screen but it was real and that is where the beauty ended. It got fucking cold afterwards and just when I was entertaining stupid thoughts of resigning at work a customer I always see started a conversation with me, he works at a hospital as a surgical technician, he’s a Zulu and he’s very talkative. He told me he knows he is not the hottest person on earth but he knows he can make people laugh and I of course laughed. He’s one of the few men I can tolerate, usually when a male tries to hit on me I walk as far away as possible, look into a book or put the volume up on my headphones. I’m thinking of matching him up with one of my cousins he would make a good partner for them, as for me he is good as a friend, hopefully he will understand.
I’m almost done with my noodles. My neighbour is blasting her tv speakers much to my dismay, at times nothing irritates as much as tv unless it’s on the sports channels or Fashiontv. Yes I really like fashion tv, I mean all the girls are freakishly tall, have freakishly symmetrical faces, they look the same and they’re beautiful, but I enjoy fashion tv because I do believe that, besides the capitalism involved, fashion is an art. The very same neighbour woke me up at quarter to seven this morning with her RnB songs. I can’t wait till I get speakers but because I can only tolerate loud noise for short periods I suspect I won’t be a pain to them.
I went to the library but I couldn’t pay the fine or take any books out because their system was offline- whatever the fuck that means- now what must I do with my brain.
I’m playing a very gay movie which means I’m going to be crying myself to sleep. Why is it that all gay movies end badly?
I’ve opened up all my written work in several windows but can’t seem to even read them. I have to be brave and face my own mediocre work in order to grow.
Today was a fucking dry day, I did not see any hot girls- maybe it’s because of the weather. I hated my manager for some odd reason and didn’t even see that she was beautiful- I overhead my co-workers telling her that she looks like she baths with milk, I scoffed and huddled into a corner and immersed myself in my suduko puzzle book.
Last night a couple was fighting some few doors away from my room, luckily I had overdosed on hot chocolate (is there such a thing?) anyway I dozed off to sleep to the sound of their screaming. I think I’m getting used to such noises but I can never get used to RnB being blasted in the early morning. I hate RnB music; I think that if it were played at my funeral I’d probably rise from coffin, walk slowly to the player, turn the shit off and return to my comfy coffin.
I just got up to stretch my legs because they’re sore because I did a lot of squats today, and I just noticed a few hobos are missing from their usual sleeping places. In the day the pavement belong to the street vendors and at night they belong to the hobos and no matter what class system you belong to we remain creatures of habit, and it is because of this that I have noticed that a few hobos are missing- I’m worried and I don’t know why.
I have finished my noodles, and will probably have them again in the next quarter because noodles are disgusting and should be eaten only in desperate times- in my case I was too lazy to cook my green vegetables. I have finished a cup of hot chocolate and will probably have another. I think I’ll switch back to having a glass of wine a night, if the wine is good enough I rarely go back for seconds unless I’m feeling indulgent, and it puts me sleep much easier and faster than some fattening hot beverage. I think I’m going to need twelve hours of sleep to ease my aching muscles, my neighbour will probably cut that short.
My hands are frozen and I have had so much hot chocolate that I am now overly flatulent- dairy does not agree with me but I have it from time to time. I must buy a heater at the end of the month; I can’t keep warming myself up only with hot beverages and friction.
I finally finished the ‘’millenium’’ trilogy by Stieg Larsson and Lisebeth Salander has now been added to my list of female heroines, at the top of the list is Xena the Warrior Princess, then Thuli Madonsela who is part of the South African Public Protector and then Lisbeth Salander. I am now without a book to read, it is really frustrating becayse all I do in my spare time besides procrastinate is read, even at work I read. Once my colleague reminded me that I wasn’t at school, I reminded her that I knew this and moved away from her and continued reading my book. I have a fine of R33,00 to pay at the city library and then I can take out four books.
My day was spent mostly on my bum, besides the time I exercised which also took me a while to do. I was a bit disappointed in my performance, I felt I did not push myself enough, that I wasn’t sweating enough, well tomorrow is another day and I will try to do better. I did not go to the gym as I said I would, I will try to go tomorrow.
I have been reading up on writers and why they write so that I could be a little inspired; ever since my father passed I have had the worst writer’s block, I mean all the ideas are in my head but they just will not translate to paper or should I say Microsoft Word 2007, yes I use 2007 because 2013 is complicated. Anyway what I found was that a lot of writers were fucked up like myself and so I do have faith in myself, it’s just frustrating, it’s like being constipated, I need a release. I write mostly poetry and short stories, when I was eighteen I started writing a book/ novel (call it what you will) and I finished it when I was twenty. When I turned twenty one I realised the book was shit and that I should probably start on another one. That being said I love all my writing, even the dark, whiney poems I wrote as a teenager. Each piece of my writing is like my baby and I love each one differently and endlessly. The point of being a writer I have found is not to be published or to attain fame, it is to release all internal thoughts and observations that gnaw at the folds and crevices of the mind. It is to scratch that itch that your soul has been affected by. I don’t know if I am making sense but that is what I think. I have written poetry that can be performed but have not done so even though I have gone to many poetry shows. To tell the truth I am afraid of what criticism my babies will receive, you see I love my babies and would not like anyone to show me sides of theirs that I would begin to hate, but then again I want growth and for this to happen criticism must be allowed in. I have to learn to be vulnerable even to strangers, strangers who can help me to mould my craft better.
Yesterday I pigged out on deep fried fish and ox liver and tonight I have spinach- how sad, how can one end the night without some little meat of any kind. Every time I eat meat I feel joy but then I have this side of me that feels sorry for the animals for the way they are treated and it’s at these times when I consider becoming a vegetarian. I had no meat today and I day dreamed of hot-dogs, I don’t even like hot-dogs that much and so I think of it as my body’s way of telling me that I must never let go off meat. But then again being the person that I am, that is I like to challenge myself, I would like to try to go a month without meat- I just shivered. Only time will tell if vegetarianism is for me.
Actually I did not spend the entire day on my bum; I did go downstairs to the Landlord to ask her when I could access the internet, part of the lease agreement was that I get a gig of internet per month- I was told not this month because they have to fix some things- what a bummer. I sat down with her assistant, a girl (I don’t like that word but it has been engraved in my vocabulary by society, she is actually a female in her mid twenties) with dreadlocks. She asked me what I do and as always I replied by telling her that I write. Our conversation lasted all of fifteen minutes because I was hungry and even though she was friendly and chatty she was working and I was there in the office in my sweat pants and a bleached out t-shirt with no bra underneath. I stood up and left without telling her. She works in the building. I suppose I’ll see her some other time.
Everyone rests on Sunday well except for me; I had to go to work early in the morning. It took me a long time to get up because I was having a morning tantrum; you know those days when you whine and cry like a child and you scream about how unfair life is; well that was me. I think have expressed enough how banal work is and will no longer go into details.
Right now the streets are dirty, even the street cleaners have their Sundays off. I often watch them before going off to sleep, they are usually groups of middle aged black women with transparent plastic bags tied around their wide waists and they have the largest brooms. They chat and laugh under the fluorescent street lights as they do their work, it’s simply amazing, then in a few hours they’re gone and the streets are at their cleanest. That only last until the morning when the vendors come and put up their stalls. The city cycle of life is intriguing and infectious. There is no other place to feel more alive than in this city. When I was driving to my friend this evening I saw a group of hobos singing in unison into a single mic. The mic was attached to an amplifier and two big speakers, there was a back track playing, the song was actually good and the little crowd that had gathered around them seemed to enjoy them; that is Joburg for you- you do what you want with it or you do nothing at all.
In the afternoon after work I went to Arts on Main to meet one of the two gentlemen I was with last week. While waiting for him I watched two greyhounds dressed in customised winter jackets play, I was jealous of these two dogs- I was freezing and had on two hoodies and there they were in what seemed like Burberry coats- but seriously life is unfair. I realised I was in no mood for social interaction and came back home and watched an omnibus of Modern Family.
Xoli came to visit yesterday; she bought me two pots, two plates, two cups, two tablespoons and two teaspoons- what a darling she is. I can never be bored when she’s around, we had our usual funny conversations about our families and then it got intense when we got to talking about relationships and I blurted that I could possibly never be in a relationship with a man, how she asked and well we delved deep into conversations of sexuality. I had never been this intense with Xoli before and awkwardness hung between us and choked what was always a fluid conversation. After getting through the trite conversation I walked her to the taxi. I know that she still loves me but I wonder if she thinks I’m a freak or need help- only time will tell. I’ll always love her.
I feel like an unstable atom, I need to release certain aspects of me in a way an atom would want to release an electron to feel stable, and in releasing these aspects of myself the unstable environment that is around me, I feel, will stabilise.
I plan to go to the gym this week and actually use the equipment. I want to lift heavy because it is what accelerates fat loss and I feel it is the next step in my exercise regime. I like exercising but I do not like exercising with people watching and this why I have been to the work gym twice but have never actually exercised in it. I just stand there for half an hour and then leave- hopefully I won’t do that this week. Last time I was there I vowed to come back because a hot girl was on the treadmill and was very friendly to me- she could be my gym buddy, okay maybe I’m overarching my expectations, I don’t even know her name. Maybe tomorrow I’ll meet her and ask her.
Tomorrow is my last day at work before I take my two compulsory off days, I can’t wait for tomorrow to be over. I can’t wait for the sun to rise- winter nights are just too cold for singletons.
They kept adding wood to the fire, the strangers I was with, they were smoking cigarettes and weed, drinking and conversing as if old friends. I sat there awkward amongst them trying to follow the different conversations, I had a double shot of rum but I was sober as a judge maybe it was because of the large amounts of food I had earlier on at the small Ethiopian restaurant on Main street in Maboneng. Maboneng is a trendy up and coming area for middle class hippies. Some rich boys got together and decided to buy crumbling buildings in the old parts of Johannesburg, renovate them and make them a trendy place to live in and entertain. It worked, everything is a few hundred metres walk from each other, the restaurants, the art exhibitions, the cinema which showcases art movies and documentaries and the clubs are all centralised. Whites, blacks and Asians can be seen hanging around each other without awkwardness.
The initial plan when I got home from Sandton was to eat popcorn for dinner, watch a gay movie and go to sleep but as I was about to close the door of my flat the two gentlemen I met when I first moved in walked into my room and proposed we go out. I let them know I was low on funds and one of them, the one I had tea with last week, said he would pay- I just had to provide transport. Ah yes the perks of having a car.
First we had Ethiopian food which I must say is similar to South African food, it was delicious, well anything is delicious when one is hungry. We then toured the place and landed at Curiosity Backpackers, a place for Backpackers from all over the world including South Africans, here you can experience the city through tour guides via cycling through the city with an experienced city slicker, and also there is accommodation if you feel you want to sleep in the city. Considering it was nine at night we were not there for the tour guides- we were there for drinks, good music and good company. All three were provided for as it was an open mic session where almost the whole audience participated; when a participant finished rapping his part another would immediately get on the stage and start rhyming and flowing. The place was filled with mostly young black men, all well educated, even though some looked like hobos (I guess it’s a hippie thing) and all wanting their voices to be heard. I liked the atmosphere even though it seemed like I didn’t. I say this because people kept asking me if I was fine, the thing is I am over stimulated quite easily which is why I do not like noise or too much disarray in my life but that being said I do like being in social events; it’s just in such situations I’ll be looking at the details of everything: the bricks in the walls, the low pants of the guy next to me, the lighting, the way the music blasts, the laugh of a girl, the paving of the floor, the arrangement of furniture, while doing this I will also be analysing the person’s verse on stage, while simultaneously listening to the conversations of people around me- and this is why I stand still in a room of people jumping up and down to the beat of the music, this happens especially if I’m sober- it could be the reason why I can’t dance, doing all of what I do and dancing at the same time would be a feat for my brain. I considered drinking more but remembered I was driving and so sat down and enjoyed the scenery of young free black South Africans.
I am intrigued by people who can dance especially if they are voluptuous females. There was such a woman in sea the of men, I just kept watching her every time she got up to dance and towards to the end of the night, when everyone had migrated to a tiny fire besides the building, we got to talking. She had very smooth skin like chocolate mousse and her eyes were like that of a porcelain doll. I was very interested in her and I liked the way she looked at me, as if she was daring me to ask her more questions about herself and when she answered me she would look straight at me as if through to my core and then she would wait intently for the next question. I asked her what she was doing in the city, she said she was studying, I asked her what she was studying and she said she was in high school, and then I realised why her eyes were like that of a porcelain doll. I told her she was a baby and almost all feelings for her dissipated. I could see she was not happy with me calling her a baby and maybe that’s when a cold-front ensued. When the fire died down and the owner told us to leave I offered to take her home but some guys had already taken care of that; my two gentlemen and I went to McDonalds to comfort ourselves. It was a good night, a night of split decisions, my adrenaline was rushing.
I’m fighting to keep my eyes open, my clothes smell like smoke and I’m wondering what I’m going to eat when I wake up in a couple of hours because my fridge is empty. A few hours ago I thought I would have popcorn for dinner and sleep in early but this city always has surprises and I wonder what morning will hold for me.
I want to ask her if she remembers the times she slept between my legs, if she remembers how we would sleep head to head until the morning and the tender touches we used to give each other but I don’t because even though it seems like yesterday, it is a distant past- I wish my feelings could remember that. Love is a bad habit, a habit trying to break even now.
Not much happened today. It was a beautiful Sunday, the breeze was blowing just right and the sun was mild- I was not at all angry to be going to work. My manager who couldn’t make it to work yesterday made an appearance today. She looked like she had a hectic night but still she oozed sexiness. I asked her if she was okay but I really did not want to know because her face told me all. Her reply was that she is just trying at this thing called life and we both laughed.
I drove my car for the first time in a long time, she still drives good and doesn’t have any funny sounds, I poured some petrol and thought of giving her a wash but I told myself I would do it at the end of the month and get the full house wash because she deserves it. She is the last parting gift my father gave me and I never knew I could love an inanimate object so much.
I’ve been feeling fat and get the feeling that when people look at me they see a pug. I hope to exercise tomorrow, the breaks between sessions are too long, and I must make them shorter.
I made a devastating discovery- my one and only beanie is missing, I don’t know where, when or how I lost it but I am very sad because that beanie is like my security blanket; once I have it on my head I feel safe and sure of myself. Now I have to buy a new one. I blame the wine because I really cannot recall what happened two nights ago after the second glass.
It is the beginning of a new month, I hope to be more productive and progressive- I mean nothing wakes one up more than realising that half the year has gone by. It is that time of the year where you have to check if you are on par with the goals you had for yourself at the beginning of the year and if not you weep, but look to the bright side because there’s still just over six months to achieve them. God be with me.
My neighbour came around to ask if he can keep more of his meat in my fridge and I asked for the use of his iron in return because I do not have one- the joys of inner city living. I finally did my laundry- I will hang it in the morning. I can’t wait until I’ll have someone to do it for me.
I wonder if there is a new moon tonight because I am feeling particularly restless, maybe something great will happen this week, maybe I’ll meet the love of my life- wait I think that has already happened- is it possible that it could happen again.