I am a Toy

I am a toy, factory packed into this brightly coloured box that has been okayed by society and siting safely on the shelf in an aisle full of toys that look, smell and sound similar to myself. I have a barcode which identifies me, defines me; although very few of my potential buyers would have noticed what it is and those who have probably won’t remember it.

I have watched men come in and out of this shop, selecting a toy an examining it from head to toe. They do this with many of the toys until they find one that they like. These toys are lucky. They will be bought, taken out of their boxes, dressed up and taken out for a night on the town. They will be wooed and spoilt, their owners paying for their food, opening their doors and treating them like royalty. But just like so many others, they will eventually become boring or be deemed ‘not good enough’ and replaced. They will end up, discarded, in second hand stores or broken and lying in a corner. 

Some of them, very few of them, will be bought by ‘the right guy’ first time around and will never be discarded. Others will pick themselves up, mend their broken hearts and find a way out of the broken toys box where they hope to find an owner who will treat them right. Those in second hand shops will eventually be rebought although their value would have depreciated substantially. And others still will sit on that shelf all their lives, never being good enough to be bought, probably working their way down into the ‘sale’ rack or even the ‘final clearance’ bin. 

It comes down to this one simple thing though, if you’re not looking to keep, don’t buy and if you’re not looking to buy, stay out of the shop.

Please Forgive Me Robbie

I may actually be the worst friend to ever have been befriended by anyone anywhere. I realised today in horror that I had missed not one but two days of perfectly good weekend party days not so that I could get some much needed work done, or pretend to study for a genetics test that I write on Wednesday evening nor did I miss out so that I could spend time with the family. So why did I miss out? Well I missed out because I was hopelessly and inexplicably hung-over. 

I awoke at four o’clock on Saturday morning, a mere two hours after having collapsed into bed, make up still on and barely pausing long enough to remove my shoes, to find myself dying of a thirst so severe I thought I had surely made out with a desert the night before. I stumbled out of bed to find that my darling sister had left a bottle of water on my desk, whether on purpose or by mistake was not important at the time. I grabbed the bottle and was soon sitting on the side of my bed, shivering from the cold and seriously regretting the fact that I had stopped drinking the night before.

After drinking about half a litre of water my thirst was finally subsiding to the levels of a normal hangover and my pure exhaustion became a more pressing matter. I slide back into bed and was instantly asleep. It couldn’t have been five minutes later when I woke with a start to that horrible sickly sweet taste of my own saliva that pre-empts and inevitable vomit. 

After rushing to the bathroom and throwing up most of my stomach contents into the toilet bowl in a not-so-ladylike manner, I slowly rose to my feet. What awaited me in the mirror was something out of a horror movie. I looked absolutely terrible. The rest of the morning continued in much the same fashion and when my sister came in at lunch time to check on me my situation hadn’t much improved.

It was then; with much self-loathing that I cancelled my Saturday night plans much to my best mate’s disappointment. Two hours later my sister virtually dragged me out of bed and marched me off to the Pulp Cinema to watch a movie. By the time we reached the opening credits I had already thrown up twice and things were not looking up for me at all but after taking a friend’s advice I managed to hold down a coke (or most of it anyways). 

But I still didn’t feel much better and Sunday proved to be not much better until I got to the Eastern Food Bizarre. For those of you who have never been lucky enough to stumble into this hole in the wall on Longmarket Street that happens to be one of Cape Town’s greatest features, I highly suggest that you get on it, SOON. I instantly felt better and my appetite returned to me tenfold. My sister and I had driven all the way to Cape Town to get Asian take outs and it was worth every cent and every litre of petrol.

Finally I was starting to feel like a fully functional human being and damn, it felt good. 

So to those friends who helped me get horribly wasted on Friday evening and to those of you who I ditched on either Saturday or Sunday, I humbly apologise for being such a lightweight and a completely useless friend. I promise to start training to improve my alcohol consumption immediately. Anyone want to help?

Give Me Something to Write On

When ever I’ve opened my blog up to post another blog I am confronted with statistics about how my blog has been doing. This lets me know how many people have been reading the articles I post and also which articles are being read. This can be quite encouraging as you may have guessed. It is amazing to open up the page to find out that any number of people have been reading words which you yourself have scribbled usually into a notebook which I keep in my handbag.

It can also be very harsh to read particularly when there haven’t been people reading your articles. And if there is one thing I have noticed it is that a blog tends to do better when it has been lovingly tended to as opposed to my wretched abuse as of late. You see the problem hasn’t been inspiration, nor has it been a lack of time although I am quick to use this excuse. The truth of the matter is that I have been in a bit of an abyss. 

I was once asked to describe how I felt to someone and whilst I don’t know the psychological term for the mood I was in I view it as being rather close to depression and my description was this; it feels as if I have fallen into a never ending well and I am constantly falling further and further into the dark space beneath me until the point where vertigo has ensured that I no longer feel as if I am falling and yet I know I am yet to hit the ground. 

And so I have fallen, deeper and deeper into my own self-absorbed pity, wanting to climb out but having no steady point on which to grab onto so that I may pull myself out. 

I write this not for your pity but rather as an observation of my life. It has recently come to my attention that regardless of who reads my blog or how many beautiful statistics I read, displayed on the front page of my blog, that I need to write for my own sake and like many writers just crave somewhere or something to write on.

Too My Dearest Friend

I write this in the hope that you may one day know just how much our friendship means to me. We may not have been friends for very long and we may not spend all that much time together but I hope that you know that regardless of all this you are still so important to me. 

Last night we celebrated your 21^st birthday party and I watched as everyone celebrated the beautiful woman that you have become and by beautiful I refer to more than just the way you look but rather to your very personality. You were described as caring and kind, loving and strong but these words do not begin to describe the way I see you. 

Whilst knowing you I have probably gone through the toughest period of my life. In just over a year I lost two parents and a dog who was more part of my family than myself. You have not only been understanding and supportive but you have been a light, smiling and laughing, at the end of the tunnel. I could never thank you enough for the friendship and unaltered love that you showed me last year.

You have seen me at my best and you have seen me at my worst and although we are two very different people, with completely different views and opinions, somehow our friendship survives all of that and we meet somewhere in the middle. And it comes down to this one simple thing; acceptance. 

You have accepted me, regardless of my many flaws and less than perfect virtues. You have accepted my strange and unpredictable mood swings, my occasional disappearances from the public world, my loud and vulgar personality and my views on not only religion but on the world in general. 

Micky, I could not explain how much you have helped me get through the last couple years and I could never thank you enough for being the amazing person that you are. I am not good at making cards, or drawing cute teddies, or buying good gifts. I am not good at saying thank you for everything that you do for me. And last night I knew that I could not find words without bursting into tears and so with this simple letter I attempt to thank you for the amazing impression that you have left on me knowing full well that you leave an indelible footprint on my soul.

Thank you for being exactly the friend I needed you to be.