I think my liver hates me. It wasn't my fault honest, how was I to know that I was drinking from the glass of eternal wine. Hmmm.... it could also have something to do with a week of farewells and reunions.
It started off quite innocently last Friday night. As usual I was lounging around in my old tracksuit pondering the meaning of life when Miss C suggested I join her and a couple of mates for drinks in Hammersmith. Not wanting to be anti-social I quickly threw on the glad rags and war paint, and dashed for the tube not wanting to miss happy hour.
It all started to go downhill when my old work crowd started to pour into the bar. I knew I was in trouble the minute my old partner in crime entered and shouted "Scampi!" giving me the biggest hug ever. (And no I am not going to explain why he calls me Scampi.)
The evening passed by in a blur of champagne and much silliness, including my mates trying to pull a guy on my behalf - nice try guys! We were reliving the good ol' days and it was brilliant!
Lured by the promise of food the next morning, I ignored the marching band that had taken up residence in my head and bravely ventured out to my mates place. Two cups of espresso, one sausage roll later I was back in action ready for farewell party number 1.
Last night was the last of the farewells (for this month anyway) - it was tame in comparison to some of the parties we have had but the booze did flow steadily. Oh and thanks to the guys for leaving the image of them dressed in women's clothes and high heels imprinted on my mind forever!
Having woken up with another hangover this morning I have decided to give up the booze. I seriously need to do some work and I am unable to write anything when my brain is mush. So I intend going into hermit mode and letting my liver heal.
Well - until next week anyway.
Friday, 13 June 2008
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
The Global Village
Have you ever noticed how dependent we've become on the Internet?
Remember the days when we used to communicate with loved ones in far away places by snail mail and the occasional expensive telephone call. I used to love getting letters from my friends in the States or in different cities around South Africa. Times have changed.
Just yesterday I spent most of the day "chatting" online to my mates. It is amazing - they are scattered around the world and yet I can have proper conversations with them without having to wait for the postman. There is no excuse for losing touch with people anymore.
Facebook has enabled us to get in contact with people from our past lives. People long forgotten from primary school to old work colleagues. Of course the great thing is that you don't actually need to have a proper conversation with them - a poke every now and then will suffice.
Some of my friends have had affairs that began online. One of whom ended up marrying the guy. The Internet has provided us with the perfect excuse for never having to leaving the house and actually physically interacting with people. I know people whose entire social life is based on Internet communities.
The Internet has allowed the world to become a truly global village.
As grateful as I am for being able to talk to my friends and family far away, I still feel a yearning for the good ol' days. We can chat to one another at a push of a button and yet people are more isolated then ever before. We have become a village of single entities - each absorbed in their own little worlds. A global village in name only.
Remember receiving a call from a friend in distress and rushing over to comfort them? Remember dropping in at a friend's place for a cup of tea and a good chat? Remember families having dinners together and not in front of the TV? Kids nowadays rush through their food and then lock themselves away in their rooms to chat to their mates online, while the parents return to their computers to continue working.
Have we forgotten how to experience real life instead of just observing it through a television screen or on the Internet?
Remember the days when we used to communicate with loved ones in far away places by snail mail and the occasional expensive telephone call. I used to love getting letters from my friends in the States or in different cities around South Africa. Times have changed.
Just yesterday I spent most of the day "chatting" online to my mates. It is amazing - they are scattered around the world and yet I can have proper conversations with them without having to wait for the postman. There is no excuse for losing touch with people anymore.
Facebook has enabled us to get in contact with people from our past lives. People long forgotten from primary school to old work colleagues. Of course the great thing is that you don't actually need to have a proper conversation with them - a poke every now and then will suffice.
Some of my friends have had affairs that began online. One of whom ended up marrying the guy. The Internet has provided us with the perfect excuse for never having to leaving the house and actually physically interacting with people. I know people whose entire social life is based on Internet communities.
The Internet has allowed the world to become a truly global village.
As grateful as I am for being able to talk to my friends and family far away, I still feel a yearning for the good ol' days. We can chat to one another at a push of a button and yet people are more isolated then ever before. We have become a village of single entities - each absorbed in their own little worlds. A global village in name only.
Remember receiving a call from a friend in distress and rushing over to comfort them? Remember dropping in at a friend's place for a cup of tea and a good chat? Remember families having dinners together and not in front of the TV? Kids nowadays rush through their food and then lock themselves away in their rooms to chat to their mates online, while the parents return to their computers to continue working.
Have we forgotten how to experience real life instead of just observing it through a television screen or on the Internet?
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
Ramblings of a Procrastinating Writer
I know I should be working today, but to be honest, I just can't be bothered. I am perfecting the art of procrastination and trust me that isn't easy to do.
So far I have managed to spring clean my flat, talk to Alfred (my pot plant), stare out of the window and contemplate whether we will actually have summer this year. I've done the washing and danced around the flat like a lunatic, listening to Pink. I am running out of things to do, and I can feel the guilt sweep over me like a dark cloud but I don't want to give in to it.
Guilt, the sign of a Catholic upbringing. Why is it us ex-Catholics are still bound by the chains of guilt? We are really quite a pathetic lot, almost apologetic for our mere existence. Where others live quite happy, we feel guilty for living our lives the way we want to and not the way others expect us to. We feel guilty for our contribution to global warning, starving Africans and for taking time out from work for a little "me" time. It is so crazy, as soon as the guilt seeps into our psyches we imagine God standing and waving his finger at us as if we were naughty school children.
OK I give up - the guilt is too great. I'll put on some calming music, be a good girl and write my article. Damn I hate being a good girl.
So far I have managed to spring clean my flat, talk to Alfred (my pot plant), stare out of the window and contemplate whether we will actually have summer this year. I've done the washing and danced around the flat like a lunatic, listening to Pink. I am running out of things to do, and I can feel the guilt sweep over me like a dark cloud but I don't want to give in to it.
Guilt, the sign of a Catholic upbringing. Why is it us ex-Catholics are still bound by the chains of guilt? We are really quite a pathetic lot, almost apologetic for our mere existence. Where others live quite happy, we feel guilty for living our lives the way we want to and not the way others expect us to. We feel guilty for our contribution to global warning, starving Africans and for taking time out from work for a little "me" time. It is so crazy, as soon as the guilt seeps into our psyches we imagine God standing and waving his finger at us as if we were naughty school children.
OK I give up - the guilt is too great. I'll put on some calming music, be a good girl and write my article. Damn I hate being a good girl.
Friday, 23 May 2008
The real South Africa
My blood is boiling right now. I've been following the story on the xenophobia in SA, and it looks like our little rainbow nation is dissipating. The truth is trouble has been brewing for quite sometime, and now that the foreign immigrants are being attacked, beaten and necklaced the International Press is suddenly interested.
What really gets me is that South Africa is showing signs of going the same way as every other African State, look at Zimbabwe, Kenya, Rwanda and the Congo to name a few. OK so in those countries the violence was inter-tribal and about gaining power over each other, but it amounts to the same thing. Are the people of Africa just blood-thirsty barbarians?
Watching the latest outbreak of violence unfold and hearing that the army has been sent in to sort it out has stirred up long forgotten memories. I grew up in South Africa and throughout my childhood, I felt safe. The army protected us from the insurgents. I remember standing in my classroom watching the army casspirs and buffels patrolling the school perimeter when the rebels had threatened to bomb our schools. I remember the State of Emergency being instated and curfews being imposed on us, but still I felt safe. The army protected us.
The media was controlled by the government so we never really understood the magnitude of the situation. It was only towards the end of 80's and the beginning of the downfall of the National Party that we started learning the truth. The violence in the townships shocked us, seeing the news coverage of black people being necklaced, murdered and beaten by both black people and the police. I used to fall asleep at night listening to the rally of gunfire across the valley.
The '94 election was presented to the world as the beginning of a era for South Africa, a period of peace. The truth is most of us whities were very nervous. Many fled the country and those of us that stayed behind weren't quite sure what to expect. This is Africa after all, there has never been a peaceful transition of power in any African State. Bravely we queued to cast our vote, hoping the chanting of 'One bullet, one boer' wouldn't come true.
It was a bit anti-climatic, there was no fallout after the election. FW de Klerk and Mandela shared power and there was relative peace. We just went back to living our lives with little change. Once the coalition broke, violence and crime intensified. Horrific stories emerged of hijackings, rape and robberies, murders and the worst of all - the kidnapping and rape of babies, encouraged by witch doctors claiming that it will cure Aids.
Living in Johannesburg became great fun. We got to run red traffic lights at night, every second person carried a gun. The best was coming home inebriated and being able to sober up in seconds as you never knew whether you would become another statistic the minute you entered the front door. No matter how much security you had, if the criminals wanted to break in, they would. Unlike the civilized world, if you disturbed an intruder you were bound to meet your end and it probably wouldn't be swift.
So like many others that lost hope in the Rainbow Nation, I fled looking for a place where I could feel safe again. I spend many sleepless nights worrying about my family back home, South Africa has become more corrupt and the crimes more heinous.
What really gets me is that South Africa is showing signs of going the same way as every other African State, look at Zimbabwe, Kenya, Rwanda and the Congo to name a few. OK so in those countries the violence was inter-tribal and about gaining power over each other, but it amounts to the same thing. Are the people of Africa just blood-thirsty barbarians?
Watching the latest outbreak of violence unfold and hearing that the army has been sent in to sort it out has stirred up long forgotten memories. I grew up in South Africa and throughout my childhood, I felt safe. The army protected us from the insurgents. I remember standing in my classroom watching the army casspirs and buffels patrolling the school perimeter when the rebels had threatened to bomb our schools. I remember the State of Emergency being instated and curfews being imposed on us, but still I felt safe. The army protected us.
The media was controlled by the government so we never really understood the magnitude of the situation. It was only towards the end of 80's and the beginning of the downfall of the National Party that we started learning the truth. The violence in the townships shocked us, seeing the news coverage of black people being necklaced, murdered and beaten by both black people and the police. I used to fall asleep at night listening to the rally of gunfire across the valley.
The '94 election was presented to the world as the beginning of a era for South Africa, a period of peace. The truth is most of us whities were very nervous. Many fled the country and those of us that stayed behind weren't quite sure what to expect. This is Africa after all, there has never been a peaceful transition of power in any African State. Bravely we queued to cast our vote, hoping the chanting of 'One bullet, one boer' wouldn't come true.
It was a bit anti-climatic, there was no fallout after the election. FW de Klerk and Mandela shared power and there was relative peace. We just went back to living our lives with little change. Once the coalition broke, violence and crime intensified. Horrific stories emerged of hijackings, rape and robberies, murders and the worst of all - the kidnapping and rape of babies, encouraged by witch doctors claiming that it will cure Aids.
Living in Johannesburg became great fun. We got to run red traffic lights at night, every second person carried a gun. The best was coming home inebriated and being able to sober up in seconds as you never knew whether you would become another statistic the minute you entered the front door. No matter how much security you had, if the criminals wanted to break in, they would. Unlike the civilized world, if you disturbed an intruder you were bound to meet your end and it probably wouldn't be swift.
So like many others that lost hope in the Rainbow Nation, I fled looking for a place where I could feel safe again. I spend many sleepless nights worrying about my family back home, South Africa has become more corrupt and the crimes more heinous.
The latest outbreak of violence isn't a surprise. South Africa is a violent country, just like every other African country. People don't value life. You can be murdered for a mobile phone and the murderer will feel no remorse. People abroad ask me why Africans are so violent and the truth is I don't know. I want to believe that there is good in everyone, but how can I when I see the senseless killings on the streets of South Africa? I just wish that the illusion I had as a child of a safe South Africa will eventually become a reality, but I have little hope that it will.
Monday, 12 May 2008
My first serious commitment
I confess I have a big problem. I am commitment phobic.
Yes folks you heard it here first - although I doubt that it is much of a secret.
Since I have quit my job to lead a hedonistic lifestyle, I have spent a few moments pondering my life - past, present and future and it turns out that I am incredibly commitment phobic, here are some my symptoms:
- I cannot stay in a job for very long, the longest was 18 months.
- The idea of a permanent job makes me break out in hives.
- In my dating life, I run for the hills as soon as the guy wants to get serious.
- I rent instead of own my flat.
- During the course of my adult life I have lived in 3 countries and am considering moving on again.
After this little revelation I decided to do something about it. I am not getting any younger and I need to work on at least being able to hold down a job. No stuff that, oooh perhaps a man? That one would definitely be easier.
Anyway back to my game plan. I figured that I need to have someone or something in my life that I am responsible for. It had to be a living creature. I thought about getting a puppy but they tend to poop and need feeding, plus not a good idea when you live in a flat with no garden. So after much deliberation I decided to get a plant, at least if it died I wouldn't feel too guilty.
Off I went to the flower shop. I wandered around for a good 20 minutes unable to find my perfect little plant soul mate. Eventually I saw him. Absolutely gorgeous, petite, petals as white as snow. I grabbed him quickly and rushed to the salesdesk. Two minutes later I was the proud owner of a...well at that stage I didn't know what he was. (It turns out that he is a Japanese Peace Lilly)
Needless to say I was overjoyed and made sure that he had the best, sunniest spot in the flat.
Alfred, yes that is his name, and I have a wonderful relationship. We talk everyday and he is even starting to get new buds. Maybe this commitment thing isn't too difficult after all. I reckon that if I haven't killed Alfred by the end of the month, there may be hope for me yet.
Alfred
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Picnicking at the Police Station
You see it all started when my friend, Ms. C, lost her passport yet again. Apparently they tend to evaporate into thin air when left lying around her flat for long periods of time....but I digress.
7pm last night I get the call, "Yo dudette, wanna go for a drink?"
Lying lazily on the sofa, willing myself to get up and forage for food in my barren kitchen, the offer is tempting.
"I've got to go to the Police Station first and report my passport lost"
hmmm...cute men in uniform - I'm starting to like this idea
"We can go for a drink afterwards"
OK sold, what single woman can resist the offer of cute men and booze.
Hunger forgotten, I throw on the face paint and make a mad dash for the door.
40 minutes later, we enter the cop shop and the giggles start as the first tall dark handsome man walks past us. Oh boy, this could be entertaining.
There is only one cop on duty so we settle down in reception area and wait our turn.
Suddenly this woman rushes in, looking agitated and quite distressed. She starts rambling on about being assaulted. Not quite sure what to do with this information, Ms. C and I look at each other and Ms. C kindly suggests she go ahead of her as she only needs to report her lost passport. The woman shouts "Oh well you sort out your passport, I'll go have a drink" and storms out.
Slightly confused, we start chatting to another girl sitting quietly in the corner.
"Well I'm only here to hand in some keys" lifting up this huge bundle of keys.
We all just pack out laughing.
Just as the cop comes out to call the next person, mad woman returns. She starts rambling on telling the cop a completely different story. Key Girl, Ms. C and I exchange puzzled glances. Key Girl practically throws the keys at the cop and makes a hasty retreat to the safety of the streets. It's just Ms. C, the cop, Mad Woman and me now. We tell him to sort her out first and sit back down in the reception area.
Hunger has set in but Ms. C is always prepared for such occasions. Out comes the nuts and cookies which look suspiciously like dagga cookies.
"Umm.. Ms. C I kinda don't feel like getting arrested now."
Of course the giggles start once again and we settle down to our picnic.
The cop looks on curiously through the glass partition, I'm taking a wild guess here but I think that he isn't used to seeing two girls laughing and chowing down in the reception area of his station.
I can hear Mad Woman shouting at the cop, I turn to look. The poor lad looks like he needs some help. My maternal instincts kick in and I want to go save him but that would probably be bad for his ego. One more screech from Mad Woman and she charges to the door of the police station. Ms. C. helps her open it and Mad Woman flees.
Finally our turn, Ms. C gets the report filled out and flirts with the cop. Apparently he was going to get Mad Woman sectioned. None of us mentioned that Ms. C aided and abetted her escape. We slink sheepishly from the station in the direction of alcohol and in search of another adventure...
7pm last night I get the call, "Yo dudette, wanna go for a drink?"
Lying lazily on the sofa, willing myself to get up and forage for food in my barren kitchen, the offer is tempting.
"I've got to go to the Police Station first and report my passport lost"
hmmm...cute men in uniform - I'm starting to like this idea
"We can go for a drink afterwards"
OK sold, what single woman can resist the offer of cute men and booze.
Hunger forgotten, I throw on the face paint and make a mad dash for the door.
40 minutes later, we enter the cop shop and the giggles start as the first tall dark handsome man walks past us. Oh boy, this could be entertaining.
There is only one cop on duty so we settle down in reception area and wait our turn.
Suddenly this woman rushes in, looking agitated and quite distressed. She starts rambling on about being assaulted. Not quite sure what to do with this information, Ms. C and I look at each other and Ms. C kindly suggests she go ahead of her as she only needs to report her lost passport. The woman shouts "Oh well you sort out your passport, I'll go have a drink" and storms out.
Slightly confused, we start chatting to another girl sitting quietly in the corner.
"Well I'm only here to hand in some keys" lifting up this huge bundle of keys.
We all just pack out laughing.
Just as the cop comes out to call the next person, mad woman returns. She starts rambling on telling the cop a completely different story. Key Girl, Ms. C and I exchange puzzled glances. Key Girl practically throws the keys at the cop and makes a hasty retreat to the safety of the streets. It's just Ms. C, the cop, Mad Woman and me now. We tell him to sort her out first and sit back down in the reception area.
Hunger has set in but Ms. C is always prepared for such occasions. Out comes the nuts and cookies which look suspiciously like dagga cookies.
"Umm.. Ms. C I kinda don't feel like getting arrested now."
Of course the giggles start once again and we settle down to our picnic.
The cop looks on curiously through the glass partition, I'm taking a wild guess here but I think that he isn't used to seeing two girls laughing and chowing down in the reception area of his station.
I can hear Mad Woman shouting at the cop, I turn to look. The poor lad looks like he needs some help. My maternal instincts kick in and I want to go save him but that would probably be bad for his ego. One more screech from Mad Woman and she charges to the door of the police station. Ms. C. helps her open it and Mad Woman flees.
Finally our turn, Ms. C gets the report filled out and flirts with the cop. Apparently he was going to get Mad Woman sectioned. None of us mentioned that Ms. C aided and abetted her escape. We slink sheepishly from the station in the direction of alcohol and in search of another adventure...
Wednesday, 7 May 2008
Oops I've done it again
Oh geez how on earth do I tell my family that I have quit another job?
This time I lasted all of 3 months before throwing in the towel. This is definitely a new record for me. I have gone into hiding and right now my family back home are blissfully unaware that I have given up my contract and am not even looking for more work. I just don't feel like hearing the disappointment in their voices and being persuaded to "get back on the horse".
I just don't like what I do for a living, it just isn't who I am. I have been consulting in IT for 10 years and am so tired of the same old arguments, trying to meet unrealistic deadlines and well, pretending to give a damn. You see there is no such thing as a smooth running project.
IT is no longer fun - it has become a business run by power hungry individuals who are only in it for themselves. I remember the good old days when no one outside of IT knew what we did. We had a kind of freedom, as the rest of the world tended to steer clear of us geeks. Now everything is about structure, setting deadlines, working crazy hours and playing politics. It has become just another business.
So I am rebelling. I intend on exploring my creative side and living my life.
As for telling my family, I'll send them a postcard from some exotic island.
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