back to hell

Holiday is over. Flew back to Jozi yesterday. I’m trying to hold onto the laid-back give-a-bugger-about nothing ‘tude I’ve picked up from spending three weeks in the Western Cape. It’s really not a lie: Cape Town really does have an effect on one’s nerves.

Before the holidays I was so tightly wound, so exhausted, so manically all over the place, it’s depressing to think that in three days time I may be like that all over again. I’m back in Joburg, I have three stories waiting to be written (one about the meat industry trade – oh the joys of being a food journo), I have one broken cellphone that needs instant repair and am still without working electric windows.
Oh and I still owe SARS five grand.

But I will not let this admin affect my life. Today. Anyway. Although already have anxiety knots in stomach which feel rather uncomfortable.

One part of my holiday I haven’t managed to write about yet is my claimed date with Kyknoord. Which I won back in July.
Now that Kyk and I are seeing different people, we met for a friendly lunch at Wakame, a Japanese restaurant in Mouille Point.
It was great. He bought me a mapbook of Cape Town – delight, sheer delight. I sat gazing at suburbs like Lavender Hill and Maitland for hours (pity I didn’t pay more attention on the Ottery and Khayelitsha pages). Kyk is a chilled ‘old soul,’ if I can sum him up in few words. I say ‘old soul,’ which sounds pretty trite considering, but I suppose the man oozes a formidable amount of experience and wisdom in many cultural, familial and life facets – an interesting and rich character indeed. As we can all see in his writing, of course.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself, so much so, we spent hours doing more talking than ordering over the afternoon. My mum, waiting for me at our flat, sent me an sms: “Are you ok? Where are you? Has your drink been spiked, or have you perhaps spiked his?”
I failed to deliver my promise, as stated in my 50 word competition entry: I didn’t wear heels. But it felt hellishly Joburg, so I stuck to flats instead.

It was strange being back in the city I used to live. I haven’t been back for 18 months. Smoking Legs and I had a great holiday together, which is thankful considering we spent three weeks in each other's shadow and didn't pull each other's hair out (sometimes we came close, but the hair follicles remain).

God, so much to do. My desk is buckling under the paperwork. Not coping. Already.