peas and spinsterhood

I’m petrified of spending quality alone time, just me and Peas. I haven’t done it in so long, I’m kind of scared to go there. There is a road of complexities with this Peas I’m not so sure I want to address by myself. The main thing being: I’m going to be a spinster for the rest of my life and own a formidable amount of furry creatures.

I kind of faced the music after seeing Goldfish live on Thursday – they are flipping fantastic – and drove home cursing my ass groping ability, which might I add, only works well in Rivonia, notsomuch Norwood. I have of late picked up this annoying habit of coming home toute seule – alone – and phoning everyone I know either then or first thing in the morning on days I don’t go into work.

The concept of spending an entire day on my ace is completely overwhelming. But it finally dawned of me this weekend that I have to do this. I have to actually just face myself. And be happy with myself alone. Woke up so hungover on Friday morning, I really didn’t want to risk trying to walk, but realised I had to go and buy the entire liquid contents of the corner café if I hoped to make it through the day alive. (I must’ve smashed something in my face once home that evening. Because I woke up with tomato sauce all down the side of my left cheek. The guys at the corner café were polite enough not to say anything. )

I had to try and deal with my own company thereafter – only after calling Ant in Sepoenda (I asked her if she’d marry me, and she said yes, so long as she can still bed her boyfriend. I said that is fine), C who is halfway to Natal, Moogs who is at the Kruger Park, Third Roommate who is in bed with his recently acquired girlfriend and doing a fair amount of waxing lyrical thereof, Doc who is in New York, E2 who was still sleeping, L who is making breakfast, my dad who told me to put myself on a dating website (gee…thanks), and last but certainly not least, my mum, who wasn’t all that sympathetic about my pounding head and nauseation, might I add.

Being more hungover than Boris Yeltsin during a press conference is hard enough to deal with on its own right there, but heck, spending it with the immediate and blatant knowledge of ‘this is going to be me for the rest of my life’ is almost catastrophically humbling. I’m existing purely for the sake of existence. Not helping: I’m hornier than a bitch on heat at the minute – and I sense some hardcore post-drunken-evening banging would do me the world of good. Even with a complete stranger. Even with Boris Yeltsin. Or maybe not. Perhaps maybe the saxophonist from Goldfish. Or even the other band member, the one with the platinum blonde semi-mullet thing going on. The way I see it, a man who can play with instruments with the ease of the Greek God of Music, can play with my instruments any day.

But I’m kind of getting used to being just me and the Peas. I love having people around me all the time, but I’ve also realised that right now, I need to be able to be completely independent. Co-dependence has been somewhat of a habit for me, and I am rectifying this. On Sunday I took a drive out to the Magaliesberg to see my folks, who stayed at the Mount Grace for the weekend. I even refrained from phoning all my mates. I’m getting used to this. Flying solo. The concept of spending a day with Peas isn’t all bad. It’s kind of nice really.