41 sleeps

Packing is a nightmare.

Packing to move from house to house is bad enough, but packing to move from continent to continent is on another level entirely. I have moved continents... [counts]... 6 times so far. This will be my 7th and, knowing me, not likely my last. I've been gathering, packing, sorting and removing this past week. It really is taking some serious discipline to get it done. I open a cupboard, sigh, close it, go have an Angry Nap. I cannot bring myself to get rid of very many books, so I've opted to be ruthless with my wardrobe instead.

What truly amazes me is all the stuff I find. Like, essays I submitted to Constitutional Law in 2002, or the CD collection that has been traveling with me since 1996 (those are some well traveled CDs), or the sunglasses I bought when I was in the Philippines in 1997. It's largely stuff that I forgot I had. Or double stuff... like 2 sets of silverware, or 3 can openers. Conversely, in my day to day life I lose all the important things, like the charger for my Cybershot, or my passport, or my tenuous grasp on reality. But ask me where my copy of The Black Stallion is (that I have owned since I was 7) anytime, anywhere, and I will be able to find it in 3 seconds flat.

I've also started shredding stuff at work. That's great fun. What is this? [picks up folder] Ah! Old draft Agreements! [runs to shredder] Shred! Shred! Shred! [laughs with glee] Whoo hoo! [high fives] *misses*

Oh! I also bought (and wrapped) myself a going away present. I'll put it on the floor where the kist used to be the night before I leave. Then, when I wake up, I can gasp in surprise, mock-shock on my face, and open the present gleefully. It just better not be another book!

98 sleeps

(A point in limine for my mom: don’t freak out when you read this; all’s well that ends well)

Santa sucked this year.

I went to the family SS for Xmas, which was great. We had the standard present-and-turkey day; the food was a delicious traditional hot lunch. ‘Twas all lovely. I woke up the next day with a horrific pain in my stomach. What is this?, thought I. Did Mrs SS go a little too ballistic on the spices for the turkey stuffing? Was I getting flu? Was it a latent injury arising from the last time I trained? (PAH! Pfft! That’s funny even as I write it… one must actually train hard for an injury to arise.) I went to the emergency doctor (after I went to the bookstore and purchased myself three – three – more books). He did his cursory examination on the table by tap-tapping on my stomach. Flu? No. Torn muscles? Hell no. The doctor said that my symptoms were consistent with someone who had either an inflammatory pelvis or ovarian cancer.

[sound of needle scratching on record]

Or what? What? Can you repeat that please? What? How the f*ck can this happen to me?

Ok, we can deal with this. We can deal.

I went back to the flat and locked myself in. This was on the Friday. I was booked in for the sonogram on the Monday. I made a big pot of herbal tea (shameless plug: Cape Town Nights Black Tea blend from the Tea Emporium in Cavendish) and hopped into a hot bath (shameless plug: with mint and eucalyptus bath salts from Rain in Waterfront). Then I drank my tea and sat in the tub until it was cold. Then I re-ran the bath and got back in. And did the same thing over again. I think that’s what emotional shock does. Wash, rinse, repeat in some sort of Jung-ian return-to-the-womb fashion. I spent three days drinking tea, bathing, watching adventure movies (Pirates; Lord; Indiana), hiding in my flat and sms-ing Mrs Starke, Sister SS, DomTastic and Little Mouse, who were all supportive and provided rational arguments for the whole process (thanks guys!!!).

When Monday finally rolled around, I half-ran, half-crawled to the radiologists. Being petrified by circumstance and difficult by nature, I made the radiologist show-and-tell the entire process. After twenty minutes of examination, they gave me the all clear. OC eliminated as a problem.

Phew!

With that, I hopped into TheNotTheBullet, threw Sister SS in the passenger seat and screamed up to Little Mouse’s spot on the Breede River. We were meant to stay one day; we ended up staying for four. What a fantastic spot! Fishing for kabeljou! My favourite thing! Riding waves in Blaublass! My favourite thing! Reading by the beach! My favourite thing! Braaing with the folks! My favourite thing! Riding in the rubber duck to the Bush Bar! My favourite thing! Carrying the rubber duck across the river at low tide in the dark for a vodka lime! My favourite thing! Laang-araming with the hotel cleaning staff on NYE! My favourite thing! I’m sorry I missed Beaverlac with Mr and Mrs Starke, the Dunbar Whittakers, Heids et al, and I’m sorry I missed out with the Queen and her crew, and my housemate theGreek and his crew, but I had an absolute blast at the Malgalas hotel on New Year. In my mind, you know you are doing New Year’s right when you are barefoot, on a dirt road in the bush, listening to a blend of saakie music, 80s pop, current hits and hip hop and trying to speak three different languages.

107 sleeps

I woke up this morning with a big shiny present on my kist.

What is that? [gasps in surprise, mock shock on face]

I grabbed the present - still sticky from the superglue I used to wrap it - and ripped it open.

Another book.

HAVEN'T WE TALKED ABOUT THIS????


Off to the family SS for christmas lunch. Hope you all have a fantastic festive season :)

150 sleeps

Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to T-Lo!
Happy birthday to you!

Ok, my birthday is only tomorrow, but DomTastic and I are going to celebrate with a toot tonight. Yay!

While traveling in foreign locales is always exciting and amazing, holidays can be incredibly lonely times. It got to a point a couple of years ago where I just stopped even bothering to celebrate my birthday. And I have come to dread Christmas. I usually high tail it up to Namibia for Pops' Orphan Family Christmas on the Orange. Anyway, I digress...

It has become my little tradition on birthdays, christmas, easter, thanksgiving and other similar holidays to buy myself a gift, wrap it up, and leave it on my kist at the end of the bed as a little surprise to myself when I wake up in the morning. Upon waking, I stare at my kist, eyes wide, mouth aghast, mock-shock on my face, at the sparkly present staring back at me from the end of the bed. And then I rip it open like a five year old.

I always buy myself books as presents. Previously, this has included:

1. The Great War for Civilization by Robert Fiske (****)
2. Middlesex by Geoffrey Eugenides (*****)
3. The Shackled Continent by Robert Guest (*****)
4. Lunar Park by Brett Easton Ellis (*****)

I love my books. I really do. It's some obsessive compulsive disorder, this book-purchasing-and-reading-obsession of mine. I am not joking when I say I have 1000 books. I even have two copies of Ovid's Metamorphosis - one translation by a man and one by a woman, just so I could see if there are any nuanced differences in the interpretation of the myths.

Well, I've gone and done it again. I've bought myself a lovely copy of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susannah Clarke, a tome weighing in at 800 pages. I have enough books. And I'll continue to buy books when I'm back. No more books! No! More! Books! That's the new rule. It's the only way I'll stop. I'll give myself something to look forward to when I'm back: one whole day making my way through the stacks at Chapters. Until then: I'll buy myself consumables as gifts, like a nice piece of dark chocolate, or a slab of double cream Camembert, or a bottle of witblitz.

151 sleeps

It's days like today that I will definitely miss. Perfect weather, not a breath of wind and clear blue seas. I popped into gym before work to drop off a gas mask that I had borrowed. Big Daddy C made me one of his awesome World's Best Power Shakes (TM) and we had a quick chat. Two things I realized after chatting to him:

1. It's going to be a very emotional few months for me.
2. It's going to cost me a helluva lot to get my books home.