Happy New Year everyone!
I hope it's gonna be a goodie. Without too many glitches along the way.
Speaking of glitches – this year's started with a rather unfortunate spate of the former.
An interesting few days spent on the Vaal River at Moogs' holiday place, with Mr 747.
Moogs' whole family was there, with their tiny offspring. Plural thereof. I settled neatly into the role of being Aunty Peas: “OK, who wants to wear my mood ring kids?”
Me, me, I do, I do!
“OK, go and fetch Aunty Peas a gin and tonic and we'll talk about it.”
Nostalgia, of when I was au-pairing seven children in rural France.
I rather liked being Aunty Peas. I've started calling myself Aunty Peas in the third person now. Even to myself, without even knowing. I've settled into the role of the crazy family flake very comfortably. Although Aunty Peas is dabbling with sobriety at the moment, but [a lot] more about that later.
The kids were cute, and Aunty Peas could hand them back when I was done talking about Barbie dolls and how one needed to do a pooh. (“Ah but Natasha....girls don't pooh. Remember that sound advice from your Aunty Peas.”) We got to sleep on a tent in the lawn – so although not miles away from Joburg in some tropical Millionaire's Mile setting where men in vests discuss their credit limits, ah no. We were in the “wild outdoors.”
Aunty Peas and her lover even took daringly, wild midnight pees at 2:00 o' clock in the morning.
But let it be said, nature is fucking loud hey. Birds frigging tweeting three sheets to the wind, never shutting up, never stopping the endlessly repetitive trill. Dear God, they make a bloody racquet. Aunty Peas is used to other noises, not this natural stuff.
One little dude asked where “my uncle” was - who had left to play golf with Moogs before sparrows had even begun thinking of farting.
That man sleeping next to you with the curly hair.
“Oh, right. You mean Uncle 747. He's gone to whack a ball with a stick somewhere, and Aunty Peas is [trying to] lie in.”
Why you lying in?
“Because Aunty Peas is hungover.”
Oh. Can I jump on Aunty Peas?
“My boy, if you do that, Aunty Peas would die on impact. You don't want her to die do you?”
But it would be fun!
“It would be dreadful. I'm counting to three. One, two...and you don't want to make Aunty Peas angry....”
It was nice to chill with Moogs again on his river. So, so nice.
We witnessed a Great Dane taking a well-executed dump in the middle of lawns of Stonehaven Country Estate. Adjacent to the marquee where people we getting married. In turquoise, might I add.
But 2008 started on a very, very serious note. It kind of all came to a head, lots of things. And whether relative to those around me and their responsibility in it, I have things that are in need of desperate attention. Just for me. And Aunty Peas' frazzled nerves. (“Fetch Aunty Peas her little white pills, the t-r-a-n-q-u-i-l-i-s-e-r-s, please my boy.”)
Amongst this public display of being a hippie-centric non-relative aunt.
Aunty Peas has finally had enough of her patterns, and her lifestyle.
A few things need to be fixed. I'll begin with giving up alcohol. I don't know how long for, it could even be indefinitely. I klapped a couple of rock shandys at dinner last night, and was annoyed to find it wasn't cheaper.
To cut a long story short, I am emotionally exhausted. So this year I'm focusing on me. And my peace of mind. And my confidence.
Those are my New Year's resolutions. My backyard needs to be relandscaped.
I'm putting the 'awe' back into awesome; the 'funk' back into dysfunctional.