10 June 2014 Tuesday


My hands are frozen and I have had so much hot chocolate that I am now overly flatulent- dairy does not agree with me but I have it from time to time. I must buy a heater at the end of the month; I can’t keep warming myself up only with hot beverages and friction.
I finally finished the ‘’millenium’’ trilogy by Stieg Larsson and Lisebeth Salander has now been added to my list of female heroines, at the top of the list is Xena the Warrior Princess, then Thuli Madonsela who is part of the South African Public Protector and then Lisbeth Salander. I am now without a book to read, it is really frustrating becayse all I do in my spare time besides procrastinate is read, even at work I read. Once my colleague reminded me that I wasn’t at school, I reminded her that I knew this and moved away from her and continued reading my book. I have a fine of R33,00 to pay at the city library and then I can take out four books.
My day was spent mostly on my bum, besides the time I exercised which also took me a while to do. I was a bit disappointed in my performance, I felt I did not push myself enough, that I wasn’t sweating enough, well tomorrow is another day and I will try to do better. I did not go to the gym as I said I would, I will try to go tomorrow.
I have been reading up on writers and why they write so that I could be a little inspired; ever since my father passed I have had the worst writer’s block, I mean all the ideas are in my head but they just will not translate to paper or should I say Microsoft Word 2007, yes I use 2007 because 2013 is complicated. Anyway what I found was that a lot of writers were fucked up like myself and so I do have faith in myself, it’s just frustrating, it’s like being constipated, I need a release. I write mostly poetry and short stories, when I was eighteen I started writing a book/ novel (call it what you will) and I finished it when I was twenty. When I turned twenty one I realised the book was shit and that I should probably start on another one. That being said I love all my writing, even the dark, whiney poems I wrote as a teenager. Each piece of my writing is like my baby and I love each one differently and endlessly. The point of being a writer I have found is not to be published or to attain fame, it is to release all internal thoughts and observations that gnaw at the folds and crevices of the mind. It is to scratch that itch that your soul has been affected by. I don’t know if I am making sense but that is what I think. I have written poetry that can be performed but have not done so even though I have gone to many poetry shows. To tell the truth I am afraid of what criticism my babies will receive, you see I love my babies and would not like anyone to show me sides of theirs that I would begin to hate, but then again I want growth and for this to happen criticism must be allowed in. I have to learn to be vulnerable even to strangers, strangers who can help me to mould my craft better.
Yesterday I pigged out on deep fried fish and ox liver and tonight I have spinach- how sad, how can one end the night without some little meat of any kind. Every time I eat meat I feel joy but then I have this side of me that feels sorry for the animals for the way they are treated and it’s at these times when I consider becoming a vegetarian. I had no meat today and I day dreamed  of hot-dogs, I don’t even like hot-dogs that much and so I think of it as my body’s way of telling me that I must never let go off meat. But then again being the person that I am, that is I like to challenge myself, I would like to try to go a month without meat- I just shivered. Only time will tell if vegetarianism is for me.
Actually I did not spend the entire day on my bum; I did go downstairs to the Landlord to ask her when I could access the internet, part of the lease agreement was that I get a gig of internet per month- I was told not this month because they have to fix some things- what a bummer. I sat down with her assistant, a girl (I don’t like that word but it has been engraved in my vocabulary by society, she is actually a female in her mid twenties) with dreadlocks. She asked me what I do and as always I replied by telling her that I write. Our conversation lasted all of fifteen minutes because I was hungry and even though she was friendly and chatty she was working and I was there in the office in my sweat pants and a bleached out t-shirt with no bra underneath. I stood up and left without telling her. She works in the building. I suppose I’ll see her some other time.

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