Well… 2021 is almost at an end and all I can say is Thank the Pope! It’s been a rough, tough, and often downright shite, but it did have some good moments too. I made a few new friends, had quite a bit of freelance work for almost nine months doing social media postings for Where to Next, proofreading for local, Pegasus UK published, author, Sharon Brummer, writing some blogs for Noisy Digital, and when I got the dreaded plague, I got sick, and while it was bad, I know that it could have been so much worse. I didn’t get to blog as much as I would have liked, something I hope to rectify in 2022. Looking back…
I’ve always been aware of #breastcancerawareness but after this, I am a lot more serious about it. Ladies (and gents), please check your boobs for irregularities regularly. If you don’t know how, speak to a local healthcare practitioner.
It was a normal Monday morning shower. Until it wasn’t anymore. There I was, warm water cascading down over me, yet I was ice-cold with an indescribable feeling of dread; I had felt something unusual in my right boob – a hard lump. Could it be cancer? Nah, surely not?! But maybe… no, don’t be stupid! There’s no history of breast cancer in the family…but what about on your biological father’s side? It could be cancer… you’re at that age… These are just a few of the things that milled through my head the entire day. Needless to say, I hardly slept. I kept waking up during the night poking my boob. As sure as the earth rotates on its axis the knob was still there, feeling to me to be about the size of an old one Rand coin.
Does the hurt you caused me ever sucker punch you unexpectedly? Do you ever feel enveloped by a storm of sadness? Do you ever wonder if I’ve wanted to die because of it?
Your broken promises are splinters of glass in my mind “I’ll never hurt you” – the salt in my wounds
Do you ever have to stifle screams of terror at night As the memories choke you with their icy hands Their bony fingers squeezing the throat your lips often caressed
Silent tears flow as panic threatens to turn to hate “I’m sorry” – the word I damn to Hell
I try to sleep to silence the voices in my head My rest plagued by inescapable rooms Every door I open leads to another dungeon of heartache
My bed is cold, a sanitized, steel slab You make the Y-incision with the diamond of her engagement ring
Did she stand beside you as you cracked my ribs To remove my still-beating heart? Our end: your start
Many years ago I wrote a piece about Daniel, an attendant who worked at the petrol station close to the house we lived in at the time. Today I want to share a similar story, also about a petrol attendant – her name is Dalene. She works at the station I pass daily whether on my way to work, or on my way home. I refuel there most often because I earn loyalty points with the bank if I do.
Her job is not a difficult one, but in a sense it is hard. As the seasons change, the mornings are chillier, darkness sets in earlier, and for a great deal of her shift, she is on her feet. That’s how we got talking one day – she was limping.
This post is going to be short and sweet (literally and figuratively!)
It’s Day 3 of Advent Town and I was overjoyed to get a lovely Waxees candle in today’s house. It even has a wooden wick which crackles as the flame burns. The instruction today is something I try to do every day: make someone smile. I like to think I succeed.
I must admit, having a countdown to Christmas is getting me in the festive spirit earlier than usual. I am already thinking about how to make the day special for my parents. I have ordered a delectable treat box and a fruit cake from Heavenly Treats Cake Boutique in Port Elizabeth for us to nibble on while we watch a Christmas movie after our planned lunch of cold meat and salads. Also, I am either going to make gifts or buy from friends that have their own businesses. Pity none of them have their own winery!
On other news…
Last night I stayed over at the Toppie and the Bean. The Toppie made apricot jam, which spurred me on to make a pot bread. The combo = amazing! The Toppie gave me half the bread, which I will be taking with to Nikita and Jack’s house tonight; I’m cat-sitting for them until Sunday.
I’m excited for Saturday morning. Carla, four of her friends and I are going to a high-tea experience at a local boutique hotel – a belated celebration of Carla’s birthday. I am happy to report, despite carrying some extra kilograms around, I still fit into my 1950’s-style dress and my red high heels, which is what I’ll be wearing. I look forward to the day when the Coronavirus is a thing of the past, and we don’t have to wear masks anymore, so I can put on make-up and sassy red lipstick.
I’ve been a bit quiet blogging-wise. It’s that time of the year when the days flow into one another. I’ve missed two opportunities for #MoodboardMonday. Hopefully I’ll get back into it soon.
Today marks the beginning of a new month. With 2020 being as unpredictable as a hormonal woman on a bad period without her wine supply, I wondered if we’d ever see December. The world has been completely turned on its head, with people having strong opinions about the realness of the Coronavirus and the lockdowns attached to it. Honestly, I’m over it and by it I mean 2020 and the Coronavirus. Add to it that everyone is just gatvol, and you have a ticking time-bomb waiting to go kaboom!
Reflections of a Misfit 