When you can buy a beer (and a flavour that you just happen to like) for just ZAR6 – you know that life is good. It hit me quite hard, in fact, sitting with a bunch of crazy people in a dodgy bar in Cape Town, drinking this well-ppriced beer like it was juice. I am going to miss this. I am going to miss the ease of transaction. (which is only said for all things not govt. related) I am going to miss the lazy, unkempt waiters and waitresses that you somehow end up befriending just because the service is THAT bad and you can really empathise with them from your days of doing the same thing. I am going to miss how everything is just around the corner, so that when you stumble through the streets in a drunken haze, you know you don’t have far to go. I am going to miss how you can rock up at any store on the corner totally stoned out of your bean, or pissed as a coot, and the person behind the counter serving you not only doesn’t bat an eyelid, but mught even engage in some kind of quirky banter. (Kind of like: their sense of humor at 4 in the morning vs. yours)
I’ve been trying to find an opportune moment to say goodbye to ‘guy I like’, but this just seems like an absolute impossibility. I sent a text last night asking if he’d like to join me for a quiet drunk and i got a reply that pretty much told me he ‘has stopped drinking’. So i didn’t reply. he clearly thinks ill of me for my somewhat robust drinking habits, but sorry buddy, it’s too late to change now. And besides, who wants to talk about monstrous buildings when they’re sober anyway? No wonder his judgement is impaired – fucking cerebral architects and their ambiguous lives. Bleh.
So, I’ve been making up all these scenarios in my head about my mum spotting my new chop and having a seizure right there on the floor and then her fiance kicking me out of the house. She cannot, under any circumstances, get a goosy gander at this tattoo. Not that I care, but I WILL be disinherited on the spot. The trick here, I think, is to wear LOTS of clothing at all times. And scarves! There must be scarves! stripy, spotty, glittery, whatever, they’re invited! I don’t wnat to hurt her any more than I already have by choosing to bugger off to a country that she wouldn’t even ask the exterminator to banish the parktown prawns in her house to.
Again, sitting at my desk, sipping cold coffee, because it tastes better than when I think about how madly I want to get the hell out of this office. I wonder who’s going to replace me? I should write her a set of tea-making instructions so that she at least stands a chance. I sometimes think it’s the only reason I lasted this long here – because the CD was certainly not my biggest fan. Maybe in my next life I’ll be an officer of the law, a-knocking on her trailer door to arrest her for having too many illegitemate children by Robert Mugabe (or his equal in that life). Who knows?
You might see me here again today – I am not anticipating a fun one. Also, you might see myself and Smash at theblackalbum.wordpress.com, so go check it out!
