I’m so awkward and I can hide it


Am I the only one who’s made incredibly awkward by a colleague waiting for them when they park in the morning?

 

This is the curse of being gregarious. It attracts social lepers from all walks of life. The small talk alone is enough to give me nausea causing anxiety.

 

When I see a colleague waiting for the lift I take the stairs.

When I see a colleague parking, I bolt out of my car.

Dry work functions? You can miss me!

I don’t even go the loo when I see a colleague headed there.

 

I’m not wired for forced interactions.

 

This mask of joy I wear is causing me great pain.

 

*resting bitch face lessons pending*

More on insomnia 


So I can’t sleep. I’m going to share all my thoughts in bullet points. 

This is in no particular order. 

  • It’s hard making new friends.
  • I hate making plans in the weekend, plans are for week days the weekend is not for plans.
  • A shrewd woman is far more effective than a shrewd man.
  • I hate instances of sulking over fixable things.
  • Monogamy is systematic repression.
  • I wish I could drink more and get away with it.
  • Hedonism is making a come back.
  • I only ever imagined getting married for money.
  • Are you wasting time or taking the scenic route?
  • Not as many thoughts come to you when you consciously think of something  to think about.
  • I might have just cured over thinking.
  • Mind, body and soul.
  • Michelle Pfeiffer is lowkey a mean girl. 
  • Do we have community theater in SA?
  • I love the idea of acting for fun.

I’m going to try sleeping. 

Bye bye.

Transgender Rights


After a long day, I put on some John Oliver and let the episodes just play on loop.

An episode on transgender people came up, please watch.

Transgender Rights: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO)

As with many other gay men I got my start in a closet (I like to call it my Bohemian Glass Wardrobe). I wasn’t in the closet though, I was put there; I was pushed into a corner by everyone around me announcing what I ought to be. Tales for another day.

A quick look into my sex history

I started out sleeping with women/girls/female/womyn. Then I started sleeping with men/boys/males, then I slept with females again, then males, back to females, then I was all over the place. I seem to have settled with men, but we’ll see.

The bigoted homosexual

I used to be scared to sleep with ‘feminine’ men – I say scared now because I understand shame. My language was so much more brazen and bigoted then. Even when I was ‘out’. As time went on I knew better so I did better.

At the height of my sexual revolution, I congratulated myself for being able to sleep with many kinds of men. Then I met a transgender woman, her name was Surprise (I wish I was making this name up). She was sweet and kind, and she gave me her numbers.  I thought to myself, here’s another milestone, you can do it, I thought.

I didn’t end up hooking up with Surprise. I want to say I chickened out, but really I was filled with narrow-mindedness and ignorance. I was now like everyone else. I sounded like everyone else who damn near ruined my sexual identity and all of me actually. I said real dumbshit, which I don’t care to repeat, about Surprise and transgender people.

It was all extremely invasive and crass. With my words I demeaned transgender people, I stripped them to meat bags, and empty shells. This is essentially what we do everytime when we use pejoratives to sexualise people we know nothing about.

See, as a gay mam the zeitgeist would sooner kill a transgender women before they spit at me. I’ve come to learn a few things about what transgender folk go through. This is world is actually unsafe for them. It is that bad. Please be kind. If you can’t mind your own fucking business. These really are the only two option.

I’m not a rat and this race is killing me


After years of working and education, I find myself feeling more and more that I am not wired for routine.
It’s actually more than that, I’m not wired for:

  • the city,
  • traffic,
  • a boss,
  • an 8 to 5 environment,
  • performance reviews,
  • a monthly salary,
  • individuals called colleagues that I have to interact with, WTF!
  • rules of conduct
  • dressing a certain way
  • absolutely not wired for applying for leave, I mean it’s my fucking life
  • competition to out do people to get ahead

I can actually go on for a while. You know, I’m not even wired for nice things. Yes I like nice things, but I’ve lived and seen people live full and apparent happy lives without nice things. I can do without.
I watched a movie a while back, I don’t remember the title, Helen Hunt was in it. She ran into an old friend; the catch up went something like this:

Friend: “You’re married now, what does your husband do?”

Hunt: “Oh he’s a philosopher.”

Friend: “That’s interesting, which school?”

Hunt: “No, he just stays home and thinks a lot.”
Maybe that’s what I’m wired for.

 
I won’t even get into motivation and ambition and all that mess. These things are for people in this rat race that I don’t belong in.

 
I’ll be debt free in a couple of months, God willingly. Going to move back to my mother’s house and think a lot for a year or until I find another way. Or not…we’ll see.

 
P.s. I’m not depressed, but it is really cold this morning and I work for a soulless organization.

Everyone is dying and it’s not stopping 


I’m at a friend’s father’s memorial service. Tomorrow I’m going to my grandpa’s brother’s funeral. It’s a lot of funerals. 

It’s been a long day. It’s freezing and I’m cold. I’m starving, the pangs keep getting worse. But so what? People are dying and it’s not stopping. 

There are kids at this memorial, kids with a conscious and those without. I look at them and they don’t look any different from anyone around me. It’s the spring in their step puts a smile on my face.

There’s a man talking. I listen sometimes. He seems passionate. He’s sharing anecdotes. Tales of the past. Shared memories. It’s all he has because that’s all that’s left.

I don’t like funerals. I’ve been to many, and I don’t like them. No one really knows how to be. Everyone wears the same face. The face of loss. It’s bare. It’s solemn and every one is dying and it’s not stopping. 

The love of your life


A distinction

 

I’m 29 now. I remember the first time(s) I fell in love. Between 20 and 22, with two different people. Before these loves, I was completely oblivious to what it was.

I’m now in a loving relationship. It’s going stronger by the day and I’m happy.

The other day my friends asked me if he’s the love of my life. I said no, without much hesitation. He’s the great love of my life, I said.

Those four words, LOVE OF MY LIFE, describe to me what happened between 20 and 22 with those two individuals. The experiences with them were very different. In one situation it was unrequited love, it was acknowledged but not necessarily returned. In the second instant it was everything, I was given mind, body and soul.

 

This is how I experienced the loves of my life whether things were good or bad:

  • The sound of a door opening, I hoped it was them.
  • A beep on my phone, I hoped it was them.
  • When I turned a corner, I hoped they were on the other side.
  • Elevator doors opening, I hoped it was them inside.
  • In public spaces, it was them I hoped to see.
  • Footsteps.
  • My name hollered.

See this was everywhere. It wasn’t a thing of logic. My body had physical reactions to what I was feeling, a lot of adrenaline. I spent three years anticipating. Every single time it wasn’t them, my heart would sink in disappointment. Knowing this disappointment wasn’t enough; the anticipation would come back, as strong, over and over again. So many moments of breathlessness.

This is what my life was. Excitement, anticipation, disappointment. It was heroin.  I swear there were times when I thought I was going to throw up.

 

These feelings quelled over time, as most things do. I however wanted to replicate this. This is what I knew as love. I was still addicted to that rush.

It never happened. For years it never happened. I thought I’d reached my love quota. I’d peaked too early.

I then found the great love of my life. A knowing came over me. I always knew. He was the one around the corner, I always knew it was him calling/texting, I knew his footsteps – it was always him. This is, again, how it always is, whether things are good or bad.

 

I’d rather this. From heroin to kale.

 

 

​Time to go


This is for my friend who forgot to follow the music.
So quick to shell’a you, so very very quick. They come at you with their guts and desires. You take them on, for whatever reason you do.

They come to know you. You give to them, and maybe they too give to you. You’re dancing like you never have.
Time passes, things dwindle. The flames quell, as they often do. The lights go on, and home whispers to you both. 
The buck now falls with you. Now you must nurse them out of what they started. Oh they’ll tell themselves a tale of two hearts:
“I’m still in love, but it needs to end, I just don’t want to cause hurt”
Filling your space with gassy lies of favour and pity, apparently for you. 
It’s strange for a while, it doesn’t feel like anything, how can it? You inhale the gasses, you lose your mind. You scramble for your stuff.
Then a time comes. They don’t have it, you must. That bravado that started this is no more. True grit is now with you. 
It’s time to go.

My Dog’s Gone Missing


Good days were becoming a rarity in my life. Not for any other reason but my own decisions; well sometimes you’re just swinging from deadline to deadline. Even then one can make decisions, smart decisions. I decided to be happy and it actually worked. Happiness, apparently, was a thought away.

I managed to exercise everyday this week. I ate right. I was even productive at work.

Today was particularly grand.
1. Woke up at 1am to catch up on work.
2. Smoked one cigarette in total.
3. Flirted with nice boys and gals.
4. I cheated on my diet with only two biscuits, and there were a lot of snacks going around.

I drove home beaming. Five minutes after my arrival mama gives me a ring. My first instinct was to not take her call. This was for no particular reason. Perhaps I wanted to preserve my good mood. I let go of that selfish thought and picked up her call.

“I just got back from work. I can’t find Daisy anywhere”.

Those words didn’t make sense. They still don’t make sense. She’s never left the yard alone before ever and she’s turning five this December. Why would she suddenly stray?

“Oh my God. Someone stole my Daisy.”

Mama was bordering on hysteria, as any mother would do. I tried to calm her down, it didn’t work much. She was on a mission to find Daisy. A mission I was too far away to support. It was also dark and cold. I wanted my mama to at least be home safe and warm.

“I can’t go to sleep. I’m going to find my Dog.”

At this point I walked into my bedroom and started crying and bargaining with God. She’s the sweetest thing my Daisy. Loves everything and everyone. She’ll exhaust you with her energy and sulk the whole day if you reject her. 

I’m so glad that I was completely exhausted. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at all.

It’s been five hours since then. It wasn’t a horrible dream. Daisy is still missing. Is happiness still a thought away? Yes, it is. This truth has revealed itself to me. Right now though, Daisy is the only thing I’m thinking of.

Please come home soon Daisy!

image

Looting. Is it really worth it?


Looting seems so dangerous and exhausting and stupid. I wonder if it involves any planning. Do you leave your house knowing which shops are hot spots?

First you have to compete with other looters for the stuff you want. They could have experience and need it more. There you are reaching for butter and you get elbowed in the throat because it’s the last one.

Then you must run with all that stuff. I mean, how do you even know your level of fitness for running with groceries? Then a lazy, or smart, looter trips you and takes all your stuff.

Don’t forget the popo! Damn popo! If they find you it’s so over. Oh popo love beating looters. Rightly so. I actually want to beat them too. I mean fuck is wrong with you? This ain’t no crazy sale. Have you lost your mind?

And then, because it’s 2015, you get caught on camera and images of you are all over the Internet because you wanted free shit. The humiliation.

Don’t loot guys. It’s not worth it.

P.s. Please listen to Baltimore by Nina Simone. Such a beautiful song.

P.s. My manager is like “You don’t have to come in today. But I’ll really appreciate it if you do.” Like…I don’t know if I want to be appreciated.

19 Struggles Of Having An Outgoing Personality But Actually Being Introverted


Introversion Effect

Like many categorizing systems, the separatist thinking behind them attempts to firmly place us in one container or another.  The flaw in these types of systems is that they don’t always take into account the middle areas of the spectrum.  And any system is just that: a spectrum.  I’ve long stated with unequivocal certainty that I’m introverted.  My friends, however, look at me askance, because I’m actually very fun-loving and outgoing when I need to be.  So on that introvert/extravert spectrum, I fall somewhere to the introverted side, but exhibit limited extroverted tendencies.  Here is an article found on Thought Catalog by Brianna West that I have updated to reflect this: 

1. You’re not anti-social, you’re selectively social. It’s not that you don’t like going out, it’s that you are very choosy about when, where, and for how long. 

2. At any given point, you have one (maybe two)…

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