Pedestal

Take me down from this pedestal
And put me back on the floor.
It's easier to fuck that way.
Like the bitch that I am
Down on all fours
Come on, let's play.

Cape flats culture is still culture

Hoe lyk it, ek en jy naked? I always found that line amusing. Mildly offensive, but still amusing. It's witty. 

So once again I have these incomplete but somehow related thoughts in my head. Think of a monkey swinging from branch to branch. Barely grabbing hold of a branch before letting go to grab another, moving through the trees so fast that's it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes on him. That's how I jump from thought to thought some days, to different kinds of trees. And in the dense forest, where all these trees grow, they touch each other, their branches reaching deep into those of their neighbour.

Did I just call myself a monkey?

Moving right along. On the point of culture. 

Imagine cavemen. Now I don't know much about cavemen but just imagine that to cavemen the polite thing to do when greeting was to sniff each other.  And if you detect a strong body odour perhaps it's testimony to how hard they work to fend for their families. So being smelly would be a good thing and sniffing each other might be a sign of respect, acknowledging the smelly one's hard work. 

So along comes upperty European person who sees this greeting, gets sniffed and is most disgusted by these barbaric and uncultured cavemen. 

However imagine how slanted the proud cavemen must feel when this ridiculous looking, pompously rude pale creature refuses to greet them with respect by sniffing them. I suspect they would find him as lacking in culture as he did them. 

I know this might be an elaborate and ridiculous example, but my point was merely that your culture isn't "culture". Because my tongue does more “rah” than “raaar,” does not mean I lack culture. I simply don't fit with your notion of culture. 

Escape

It was shortly after 9am when he heard her car. He opened the door to greet her and could feel the fatigue hanging heavily on her shoulders as he hugged her.

Together they made their way up the carpeted stairs to his bedroom, catching up on the hours they spent apart.

As the bedroom door closed, she started to remove her clothes, tossing it on top of  a small pile on the chair at his cluttered desk. He’d been up all night working too.

He was already in comfortable sweat pants but removed his t-shirt to pull over her head. They were both dressed for bed. He had drawn the curtains to shut out as much daylight as possible. Suddenly they were both in a hurry to be under the duvet. He held it open for her to slip in beside him. She turned her back to him and snuggled against his chest. When he kissed her head her eyes were already closed. Content, they easily fell asleep.

Confession of tired wife

Here I lay him down to rest
Careful of the knife stuck in his chest
There’s no chance he will awake
Not after the poison I had him take
There was no need for blunt force trauma
But he deserved it for all the drama.
Now natural causes no one will buy
So I need a darn good alibi
Must find a friend to corroborate
That I was out on a date.
But if I do end up a guest of the state
Hope at least I have a nice cell mate. 

Have you ever been so over loaded with back to back and double booked social events that you feel positively miserable? When what should have been a fun and exciting social engagement leaves you feeling sad and angry?

No? Oh sorry. Guess it's just me then. 

Why deny myself a cry.

Why deny myself a cry?  Just because I'm medicated I convince myself I don't suffer sadness. I make myself believe I don't have feelings. I admit I'm somewhat numbed. Blessedly so. The drugs have helped me maintain control. 

So this morning in my hurry to meet Prince Charming I forgot to pop my pills. 

And now I'm wondering if the tears trapped in my chest are because my careful chemical balance has been compromised or because I'm coming down from a manic high - post project depression, combined with being publicly scorned by my husband. 

On the topic of His Lord and Master ... I bought a dress for a dinner event. I tried  the dress on and got his stamp of approval. 

Come the day of the main event I dressed with care, applied minimal makeup and done fish net stockings to finish the look of sass and sophistication. I looked in the mirror and felt good. Until he started his mad search for an accessory he needed for the function. We had a heated argument about a hat he couldn't find. 

I left the house wondering if he was physically incapable of ever telling me I look good. 

It only got more interesting when he finally arrived at the function with some friends, to find me doing my duty as hostess: welcoming and greeting guests. With a murderous look on his face I heared him hiss, "look at you, your tits are falling out." While my dress showed a fair amount of cleavage my tits were by no means falling out. However that was far beside the point. The tone and look of total disgust had the effect of a cleaver gutting me with one ragged rip. 

The rest of the evening he alternated filthy looks and criticism with the burning humiliation of being ignored. And when I received acknowledgement for my efforts, with a standing ovation, he rolled his eyes and dismissed me. 

So Lord, if you won't let me cry to relieve the pressure of sadness, then please, please, let me exhale the memory and move on. 

I've taken my evening dose.  And with tears only slightly blurring my page I take a breath. 

Another weak one

Another lame joke, lol.

Was explaining to someone that things aren't always cut and dry. I found myself saying, that "in my mind things aren't black and white, but 50 shades of grey". I found this so hilarious that I had to sit down to finish laughing. Yah ok, its not that funny. If you know me at all you might find it a little funny. But to me it was simply hysterical.

Bad habits

Vices? I don’t drink or smoke. I have no compulsion to scratch awkward places in public or drink from the milk carton. I however do have a terrible habit of falling in love with anyone who shows me the slightest kindness. I not only become completely besotted with this individual, but I take this idea of them, that I created, and fold my heart around it. I draw them so deeply into my being, that when they no longer wish to be there, I physically ache as they fight to break free from my soul. Once I’ve lost them I’m left with the kind of hollowness that sucks your throat into your stomach, and at the same time feels like your stomach has dropped away.

Then the mention of their name, or a glimpse of anyone with even a passing resemblance, stops my heart from beating, stop my lungs from breathing, and stops my mind from processing anything outside the painful desire to through myself into their arms or erupt into steaming hot tears of hurt and longing.

Just can't get my tentacles on it

I'm like an octopus. Soon as I thought those words I cracked up laughing. There's a joke in there that's just too nasty to explain. 

So about being an octopus. I feel like I have tentacles in so many places. Too many places. Often I feel I'm being pulled in all directions. But really that wasn't my point. Lord, it's becoming hard to focus or follow through on a thought. 

Octopus. Octopus. Octopus. 
Oh forget it.