There are some stuff happening right now that’s a bit much for me to handle. I can feel things may slide back into a maelstrom if I don’t stop it …

But do I want to stop it?

I saw two good friends today. Uri and my darling Glen. It’s the first time in months that I saw Glen again (fucking dodgy grammar, please find it in your heart to forgive me). And I was able to vent to Glen about some of the kak that is hitting my fan at the mo. Uri, well, I kept mum. It’s not as though he won’t understand, but he’s so good at pinpointing what’s wrong, it makes me want to cry. Argh. And I hate crying when I’m wearing mascara.

So I bought myself some pwetty things to make my heart sparkle again. I got new skanky red shoes yesterday already. They’re my new fuck me shoes. Every girl should have a pair of FMSs. Today I got new jeans. From Edgars, nogals. But they’re no-name jeans; I don’t do labels. I’m a label snob. It makes me look thin and pwetty! I’m so very thrilled with myself.

And then I got some new red wine glasses at Clicks. I’m far too easy to please. I don’t have to spend a lot of money; I spent R200 on the jeans and the shoes. Only!

Yes, I know I shouldn’t use shopping as therapy. Yes, I should tackle my problems instead of dodging them. But what if I just can’t? What if I’m having nightmares from them? What if my paranoia is so bad I refuse to believe what people tell me? Who can help me?

Advertisements

That’s my question, folks. Lee told me I should never show him (you know who) this blog. Richard reckons that he’d be damn stupid to dump me if he does ever read it. Mwah @ Richard.

What should I tell him? Should I tell him that I got fired from my job at a big retail company for stealing? It was, admittedly, a very grey area: virtual money. And it wasn’t even a lot. Should he know that my local Woolies banned me from “shopping” there? That is, until they got a new store manager and a new security guard. Should Dubbeld know how worried I am that the old manager or security guard will show up there, see me and tell me to get lost?

Just how much does my “Facebook complicated” need to know?

I’m awake

16/02/2008

It’s Saturday 16 February, 9 days before pay day and I woke up at 5:30am. Well, I didn’t wake up this early because I’m excited that pay day is one day closer, no, sir. I normally wake up this early on a Saturday because of butterflies in my tummy: I’m gonna see my darling.

Today is different. I thought I heard someone outside the flat. I’m paranoid like that. But I became like this for a reason. I suffered 3 break ins in 2006/07.

The first time was rather funny. I got home one Sunday afternoon and noticed the DVD player is gone. I call Toby. “Hey. The DVD Player is gone. Did you take it?” I ask him. “No, why would I do that? We’ve got a DVD Player.” he says.

Now I’m perplexed. If one stays on the 6th storey, you feel rather immune to the ravages of the outside world, and this includes being burgled. Who would honestly want to scale up your building, only to take a single item? But it happened, so it has to be someone.

The second time it happened, wasn’t funny. I got home at 2am to find out that my laptop, tv set, DVD player were gone. I didn’t hesitate calling my then flatmate. “Jou ma se ****!” I shouted at him. Over and over again, I insulted him. It could not have been anyone else who took the stuff. I locked the damn security gate and there was no fucking sign of forced entry.

The third time was fucking scary. I was living with Asanda and was alone in the flat that morning when I woke up at about 4am. I still thought to myself: “Cool, now I can finish Half of a Yellow Sun!” Alas, that didn’t quite happen that morning. I didn’t wake up by myself; I actually awoke from some rather strange noises in the flat.

I was thinking to myself what to do and worried they’ll come into the bedroom. Well, I didn’t have to worry they’ll do it; they had already been inside the bedroom by that stage. The bastards took all my stuff, which were in the corner, and they threw about half of it in the lounge. They didn’t touch Asanda’s stuff. They took fuckall of hers, only my stuff. I lost memories that day. I lost my funky Swarovski earrings, which I treasured immensely. They were one of a fucking kind, those earrings. Very similar to my skanky red shoes, these earrings were so very unique, I’d be complemented about them on a daily basis. No one else had them. Or rather, no one else had ever seen earrings like those. My heart was broken. Is broken.

My not so intelligent friend, Beatrice, reckons Asanda asked some of her friends to do it. I mean, why would they not steal any of her stuff? Why only mine?

So. What did I learn from all these incidents?

  1. Insurance companies are stupid. I claimed for much more than just a DVD player.
  2. Insurance companies are stupid. I claimed for much more than just a DVD player, tv set and a laptop. Do not trust people who are substance abusers (my now ex flatmate). Just don’t.
  3. Insurance companies are clever. I claimed for too much and lost my insurance cover. Don’t crash at a friend/frenemy’s place too long.

I want this to work. Really. I wouldn’t spend so much time and fucking energy fretting about it if I didn’t. He’s busy, I need to deal with it. C’est tout. Finish en klaar. But I also don’t want to feel neglected. Tricky. But I do not have energy for too much D.R.A.M.A

I thought of taking up a part time job. I actually applied somewhere. A bookstore, obviously. I could really do with some extra money; my rent is astronomical. I’m also working on some shitty articles for a popular Afrikaans daily. It’ll do me good. Remember I spoke to the Editor about writing something for his newspaper? I need to use Malcolm‘s Press Card for free movies on a Thursday – I’ve only been twice. Hell, I could even ask him if I could write a review on the movies and then he can publish it… I’m even thinking of doing volunteer work. But all these are not to become busier, so as to keep up with Victor. No, I have been contemplating doing all of these for months. I’ve been meaning to join Toastmasters for years. Well, for one and a half years only.

Although it is very satisfying to come home and not to have anything to do: no art exhibition opening to attend, no book launch to mingle at and no Christian birthday partay to suffer through.

In other news

It’s V’s day. Argh. At least he sent me an email. He promised last night that he’ll try to be more communicative. I guess it’s a step in the right direction.

Tonight was supposed to be a girlie evening with my spessal fwend – Susan. But I don’t really feel like trekking all the way to her anymore. Instead, I’ll spend tonight at home. Lalita might pop in for an hour or so. If not, then it’s still cool. I’ll have myself some Pongraz then.

And then I’ll spend a couple of hours with Victor this weekend. But first I need to spend some quality time with my pwetty lady!

Facebook, Smacebook

12/02/2008

I did something no self respecting 25.5-year-old would do… I sent Victor a Facebook Relationship request. No, I didn’t touch alcohol today, no I wasn’t feverish, no I was perfectly lucid when I did it.

Hell, I did it just a couple of minutes ago. So, right now, my MyFace profile states that I am in a relationship. Scary stuff. I crave being in a relationship, but I also fear it will mean I lose my identity, as has happened in the past.

This time around I would like to remember that I adore Wilson toffees, that I am extremely hyper-active, even more so than Lalita and that I think R&B is the best music ever created. Well, these days I can appreciate Jazz and Blues and other stuff, too. But R&B is my very first love.

Now he just better approve this damn relationship request, or else… Or perhaps I should just cancel it, what do you think?

Back off, or else

11/02/2008

It was Lalita’s birthday yesterday, so she invited me and 8 934 378 other Capetonians to partay. At first, I didn’t think I’ll go; it’s exactly two weeks before pay day arrives again… and I’m practically broke.

At around 8pm , I get an sms from one of our mutual friends, let’s call her Alice. She wants to know if I’m going. I tell her, “Nah, I don’t have a lift, and I’m very broke.”

She offers to give me a lift to the partay, so we go.

After the initial introductions, we sit down – me with a veeeeeeery expensive Johnny Black: R10 more than the average price in town – and get to talking to everyone around.

Now, Lalita and Alice are both quite religious. Lalita is probably more religious than Alice, but is not as much of a Bible-basher.

So, somehow, the topic of religion got brought up and Alice mentions, in a condescending (or perhaps I was just feeling fragile, hence I thought it was rather condescending) voice that I’m an atheist. I immediately got rather defensive. It’s not the first time that she pokes fun at me for not believing. At first I joked about it, but then I got serious: “Alice, I’m gonna moer you if you say something like that again!”

Now, Alice isn’t fazed by many things, but she paled (just slightly) when I said that. Which is funny, because I have never been in a fight, ever! I wouldn’t know what to do…

But what I find so horrible is that they are allowed to mock us for not believing, yet we’re not allowed to do the same. They see their jokes as freedom of speech, but we’re not allowed to make any jokes about religious people, or about being religious.

The weirdest thing is that the girl we were in conversation with, Tracey, could possibly be described as a closet agnostic. Me and Tracey got along excellently much later on, talking about relationships and religion and … stuff such as art exhibitions, et cetera.

But I was a little freaked out by Tracey (I must’ve been feeling very fragile, or very drunk) because somehow she knew that Victor didn’t have access to a car and wasn’t really surprised when I told her his car will soon be fixed.

I dunno, but it really freaked me out. It’s as though she knew him, but didn’t want to let on that she does. Eeeek. I’m being paranoid again. I hope.

Because I’m a paranoid woman, I went to Clicks to get a pregnancy test. A small part (fine, a rather big part) of me wanted to be preggies. I think I’m just slightly jealous over The Kid. He’s adorable!

So of course I want my own little Kiddie. Never mind that we’ve been very careful when we’re having sex, there’s this little voice in my head that tells me it might be possible. My breasts were sore and very sensitive for a couple of days; I was insanely tired since Wednesday; I’ve been very broody for the last couple of months…

So I decide to give it a shot. I go to the pharmacist and ask for a pregnancy test. He tells me where to find one, and I walk to that particular aisle, trying to locate the pregnancy tests. It takes me a while, but eventually I succeed, by which time I find him standing next to me. He asks: “Do you know Victor?”

Fark. I freaked out, just so very lightly, very slightly. “Excuse me?” I ask him. He repeats his question. My mind is racing, I wonder if he reads my blog, and somehow managed to find out who I am. Did he Google my blog’s URL and find my picture when he clicked on images? I look nothing like my avatar… Did he trace my IP? Is this just a coincidence? Fark. Of course, I am mistaken. Right? He couldn’t possibly be one of my readers. He’s a very old man, for fark sake!! Eeew.

It turns out that this Victor is a colleague of his. Well, actually, I wasn’t really listening to his explanation, so I could be wrong. And of course I look like his girlfriend. Now, as far as I know, Victor’s dad is a part-time lecturer. Not a pharmacist, and especially not in my small town!

I think I need to be more careful regardless. This is a small place. I’m sure there aren’t too many bloggers out there who fit my description. I should also just chillax. Eish, this is a recurring theme in my posts!!

So I went home with the pregnancy test, and I actually paid for it! Lol. I even bought myself a little treat, just in case I was not pregnant and needed something to stifle the tears.

I tested myself just before I left for work yesterday. I’m not preggies. Darn.