Black Books #1

Living on a pack a day, yellow you tarnish. You feel there's justice in the things you say but you're speaking in silence.

Alone he left you, abrupt. After you poured out your soul. The dam burst from your chest. It's not fair. You feel like no one should see you like this but there he is, a mix of cool and uncouth, teetering between fight or flight. He's not said anything new. His words have all come before. He's not done what he should, he's barely opened up his doors. And yet he expects you to breathe out all you hold dear. All you have. All you are. All you'll ever be.

It's not fair. It's not right. It's not normal. It's not kosher. Who is this fiend that slips through the night, knocking over your jars, barely apologising as he slips through your fingers once more? Who is this that wants to hold you in the open palm of his hand but not promising it won't turn into a cleched fist? Who is he and why does he fascinate your mind and why does he take up all your time.

Stop All That Coon Ish.

We live in a funny world.

Today, a normal Sunday in suburbia, a black boy found himself shifting uncomfortably on his couch with latent rage and contempt for those of his own kind.

Today, I was pissed off.

I was on Twitter, getting these fire flame tweets out about F1 and general nonsensical rubbish I tend to tweet about and I came across a few pictures from HCP. HCP is this thing that was held in Joburg called Homecoming Picnic. Basically, from my understanding, it's just a gigantic piss up for the local natives. Now I know you're thinking,  "Well why are you angry Msizi? I mean, you hate Joburg and weren't even there so why does it bother you?"

Well, what bothers me is this. There was a picture of some girl who had passed out on the ground from either drinking too much or mixing up her uppers and downers, I don't know, but people were literally dragging her through the proverbial mud with their comments. Someone went as far as to find a picture of her when she was still fine and functional and made a before and after type deal. Ok, I understand it's funny and what not if you're there at the time and all but to go as far as expose her like that on social media is a bit sus in my eyes.

Firstly, there was some oke who shat himself and yes he got washed through the manual retweets too but he wasn't cut up anywhere near as much as this girl was. I don't know this girl and obviously if she managed to get herself in such a state then a bit of abuse can be warranted, I mean we're all going to judge the over drunk person regardless of how understanding we think we are but do so in such a way that's not overboard. Not only does she have to wake up with the world's largest headache and monstrous memory gaps with the shame of a million gophers on her head but now she must deal with being torn into and being called all sorts of names?  Nah man.

There's a definite double standard at play here. If this was a guy then it'd be laughed off and never brought up again unless in passing. A FULLY GROWN MAN SHAT HIMSELF AND PASSED OUT IN HIS OWN EXCREMENT AND NOTHING IS BEING SAID BUT YOU HAVE THE TIME TO CALL THIS GIRL THE KINDS OF NAMES THAT WOULD MAKE JON VLISMAS BLUSH? I just don't get it. How can that be okay?

I don't get black people sometimes. I mean I love you guys but sometimes you're a bunch of coons. I hate the word coon. Call me it all but don't call me that. To me, a coon is as ignorant as they come. A simple waste of face and character. The kind of black people that send us back years in this battle for equality, those are coons. People who do and say the kind of things that lead us to being regarded as second rate citizens. I was just going through my Timeline and looking at tweets from people I followed and regarded as somewhat open minded and was shocked to see just how easily they fell into the coon behaviour traps. I mean if you're a woman, what makes you think it's fine to climb into another woman who clearly had a lapse of better judgement and now finds themself in a not so pleasant situation. We don't know what happened. Maybe she got her drink spiked. Maybe someone took advantage of her while she was out of it. Who knows, but you can sit there and call her what you want without thinking, meanwhile she could be facing all kinds of trauma. Way to kick your fellow man whilst they're done. Bravo to you.

I'd never go to such a thing because I know what they can be like. I know the types of vultures that sit and prey on the slipping. I know the types who will find whatever they can so they can bathe in retweets for a day. Those kinds of events are breeding grounds for the most coonish of activities, and then those same people will turn around and cry foul when it happens to them. Miss me with all that, please.

Hunger Is Real.

That douchebag mosquito is back. Seriously, I don't know how it didn't get its fill of my blood last night. I swear it probably got away with 15 pints of my blood and a dainty little take-away satchet for the road.

Anyway, forget that nuisance. I understand what hunger feels like. Now I thought I knew what being hungry was like, I mean I've eaten before so obviously I must've felt hungry right? Well not quite. See every time I ate, I ate because it was eating time and it would make sense to eat. Lately though I've been eating because I genuinely need it.

4 or 5 times a week for the past month (minus this one because we've had builders in and I've had to take on the role of honorary foreman) I spend 3 hours a day in a vest and trainers, sweating and kicking and lunging and lifting and doing all the sort of things that really burn energy. I've been mad dedicated to my tracksuit and trainers life that it's become the staple of my daily routine. After doing all that for a large chunk of my day, my body literally cries out in pain and threatens to lay charges against me. This is what introduced me to hunger.

The first time this happened, I honestly thought I was dying. I didn't know what was cutting. Why did I suddenly have what felt like a concentration of all the black holes in our solar system, living in my body? Why was my stomach telling me the whole plotline to every Police Academy movie? I thought I was going to fall over and die on the spot. There I'd be, laid to rest with my headstone reading, "Here lies Msizi, the result of being poes hungry."

Being hungry is up there as one of the worst feelings in the world. I used to be able to survive for hours without food because I used to never do anything but now I can't go a few hours without having to chow down. I don't eat copious amounts of food or anything. I have my usual 3 meals with fruit smoothies and other things in between. I have to gi e props to the inventor of tbe toaster. I hope that genius is still getting mad action in the afterlife because what he did for me, I'll never be able to truly explain. I go blank if o can't have toast. Toast is up there with water for me as something we all need. If I want a sweet snack, put some jam on that stuff. If I'm going savoury then some bovril and cheese. Toast is without a doubt my most favourite form of bread. I also have to give a shout out to Koo baked beans. Aaaahhhhh man. I thought I knew what baked beans tasted like but honestly I knew nothing. I was like Stevie Wonder trying to explain the colour blue. Usually I'd get a tin or two of Rhodes beans and that was good for 4 daya or so but the other day my mom brought home a six pack of Koo beans and my whole head exploded. I had some earlier and now I want more.

Anyway, I guess after writing all that I can see why this damn mosquito is back here for seconds. I hate the feeling of being hungry and I honestly wouldn't wish it upon anyone because when your body doesn't have food, it literally starts to eat itself. There is no feeling I hate more than my own body eating away at itself. I'm hungry again. I must feed.

Little Black Book.

There's a mosquito flying through my room right now. I can only hazard a guess that she's after my blood. I mean it is feeding time and I have blood that tastes like the sweetest scarlet nectar. It's the Oros to mosquitoes. It's the Rolls Royce of mosquito feed. It's top tier 5 Michelin star fare.

I've been meaning to get myself a little black book where I can write all my strange thoughts and notions. People have been writing down their thoughts since the first caveman realised a buffalo bone could leave a mark on a rock face. People have been jotting things down for millennia, regardless of what it is. It doesn't really matter what you have to say, whether you're telling the future or just writing about a silly satan creature trying to suck your blood. Basically I just wanted something to take the place of a blog.

Having a blog is great and all. I mean I've kept this thing for years now. I haven't been as great as I once was it keeping it running but I've made an effort here or there. Having a little diary of sorts though would be epic. There's just something about writing words on page that really is freeing. I hate sounding cliche but it is true. Sometimes when I find myself with nothing to do I'll get out my exam pad and just write. I have no set plan or anything, I just free flow until my hand is tired or something else calls for my attention. Typing things out is nothing quite like it. I sometimes sit in front of my computer trying to find things to say and they all cling to the dark corners of my mind, hiding from the spot light of attention that is trying to bring the out onto those plastic keys. Give me a pen and words will fight over one another to be next down that ink-filled tube, to be neatly laid out on that lined bed of paper.

These days I guess I've just been feeling like doing things the old school way isn't so bad. I know a little black book will steal away from what comes up here but if I do happen to pen a gem, it's not like I could ever stop it finding its way here. I love myself too much to deprive myself the pleasure of going over this years from now and being like, "Waaaay, I wrote that".

I've chased the mosquito away with a desk fan. My genius knows no bounds.

Bring Back The Scouse

People these days seem to have forgotten just how much of a genius I am. That, I have to be honest, is my fault. I haven't been flexing my genius muscles because I've been so preoccupied but I think I should just dump some wisdom on you peasants.

The World Cup has just started and we've seen a lot of crazy games. The craziest though has to be the demolishing of Spain, 5-1 by the high flying Dutchmen. Spain put their faith in Diego Costa which I guess was a wise move but he's untried on such a huge platform. On the bench they had Fernando Torres, someone who has been a footballing wunderkind but has since fallen right off the wagon. Torres has failed miserably as a striker over the last few years and I think it's time I laid out how we should go about getting him back up.

When Torres was at Liverpool, I hated him. I hated the fact that he played for Scouser scum and I hated the fact he was such a genius football player. I hated that he was a little uncouth. I hated that he could score so many brilliant goals and after the match he'd throw up in your mom's favourite flower pot. He was a scouse and didn't care. I loved Torres. When he came to Chelsea, it all changed. He was brought into a highbrow London club that was prissy and high street. We would not accept acting out. What!? You're at Chelsea and you think you can come onto the field without your pinky in the air?! By Jove! We snuffed the scouser out of Torres and that's where we went wrong. We tried to rehabilitate him and in that he lost himself.

You see, Fernando Torres has given up. You look at this and you're like, "Yeah Msizi, you speak truth my man. You're a genius and I don't question it." But some of you may look at that and say, "Msizi, you ethereal man of knowledge, surely you of all people know that Torres hasn't given up. He trains so hard and gives off so much on the field, just because he isn't scoring, doesn't mean you have to be harsh." And you know what, both of you are right but I'm not talking about on the field. I'm talking about in life. Torres has a pair of hair clippers in his locker room. Those are the same clippers Jose used to shave his own hair into a tennis ball and so came the decline of Chelsea's field antics. When a man cuts his own hair, he's given up. What in you must die for you to think, "You know what, I don't really feel like going out of my way to consult a professional stylist, do something to my hair and deal with the up keep. I'll just shave it here at home because it's easier to manage". When has easier to manage ever been good? If living an "easier to manage" life was the best then we'd all be driving diesel 7 seater MPVs and we'd only wear beige and olive green tracksuit pants and polo necks. When you give up on your appearance, you give up on yourself. When Torres cut his hair, his decline to the bottom of the barrel was imminent. The fire died the day he bought the clippers out.

My best friend Fernando Torres has become too comfortable. He earns around £175 000 a week and you know what, he deserves it. He's done so well in his life to command that kind of pay package but it's become too much. What we need to do to bring back our old 'Nando is to put him on the dole. His family can still benefit from his high pay, don't let innocent people suffer but Torres must start from the bottom, all over again. Take him back to his scouser roots, where he played like a machine. Living on the high street has made him soft. Take away his Aston Martin, make him pull a Mancini and ride a bike to training. Use the bus. The only time he should be around his beautiful beast of a machine is when he's washing it. Wax on, wax off. It worked for the Karate Kid so it most definitely work for a talent like Torres.

Also, the biggest problem is that, I don't think 'Nando can speak english so well. This is also a good thing though because then he can't fully understand what his haters are saying but that also means he can't understand what his team mates are saying. The thing about London is that it has become a multi-ethnic melting pot of diversity. He can get away with being comfortable not speaking English, no one will judge him. Back in Liverpool, people are too thick to learn new languages so he had to suffer and learn the language and in his suffering, he became a football king. If Gary Cahill is gonna clear the ball from the back and Torres is in a position to get the ball over the head of the last defender, ol' Gazza can't suddenly learn Spanish in that short time and say, "El Fernando, los ballos over die headen! Arriba!". It's not gonna happen. He's gonna be like, "Oi Fezza, get ya'self out 'nd o'er t last man, squire" but Nando can't understand that so he'll fall back and the ball will go over and the keeper will get it. Also, when he scores a goal - which he does and they're beautiful - he can't celebrate fully because SUCK MY DICK just doesn't translate well into Spanish.

So basically, what we need to do, to get our Torres back is to really work on his whole appearance and how people perceive him. At Liverpool, his best mate was an Englishman so it's important that this happens again. At Liverpool he had the best hair of anyone and it's important that this happens again. At Liverpool he worked hard behind the scenes and it's important this happens again. We need to stop looking at Torres as someone who came and became a flop of money because that is simply not true. He is still a giant talent and I feel there's a lot that he can offer on and off the field. Torres just came in at a time where things were changing and he got left behind because no one understood him. The only man who could've taken him into the future was Anceloti and he was sacked before he could walk 'Nando through. I believe that if you gave me 6 months with Torres, I could bring you what we've all been needing to see from the man. Spanish Football is dead now, we need to move on to the future. We need to bring back the scouser.

Comfort Eejit

What are you doing up here so late? When last did we see your face around these parts. You've been scare old friend. Where have you been, it's almost like you did not exist.

Oh, you won't tell me where you've been? Well that's ok. It's not like I don't already know. I was with you. You know I was with you. You know I was with you because you called for me. You called for me and you never stopped, I just wish you would've come for me. You know where I was. I stood by you each and every time. The rise and the fall. You've come out from your inequities. You don't see it yet but you're bolder, stronger, in tune with that which you thought was lost.

You're still not impressed though are you. Silly old friend. You're still wrapped up in things that steal your time. I can see that you see and seeing that I see you see yourself being done with it all. That's the mark. That's the stride you'll take once more. Strong foot and steady step, they guide you. I see you old friend, on your resurrection. You were lost but never alone. I was beside you, always will be.

Dry Wall Tastes Better Than This.

You know, I've spent a good deal of time thinking about this. I've spent literal moments of time agonizing over how any of this could work out this way? How can something take such a dire turn in events and end up like this. Something doesn't make sense here. Someone isn't quite fully here.

I think I've been called every name there is to be called in this situation and you know what, I'm sure I'm deserving of some of it. I'm sure I've done enough to warrant some of the things you hold against me and that's ok, I know that and I've owned up to that. But what I don't get is how it's so easy for you to take all that, without pause or question, and take it up as the absolute truth. That's just something I've always failed to understand. I'm the kind of person who likes to understand something. I want to know the reason behind something. I want to see the strings that control the puppetry. I fail to see that in you. I fail to see the need to fully understand a concept, to take it further than as what it's laid before you to be but to know it as a whole idea. I've wondered about this for so long now.

Why do I say this? Well it's simple really. Every time we've had some sort of fall out, it's been a barrage laid at me with a whole, "me against the world" type attitude. The go-to stance of those in fear. It took me a while to notice - although I don't know why when all the signs were there. The countless times I'd been told about this, you'd swear I'd have had it under wraps - and really that came to bite me hard on the soft globes. Granted everyone will do what is necessary to do in a situation to make sure they come out on top. That's just basic self preservation and I'm guilty of that. The easiest thing to do though when faced with something you don't quite fully understand or feel comfortable with is to try tear it down and lash against it. We fear what we don't understand and I can only conclude that's what you were doing. You told me many times that you feared I could destroy you and if I really wanted to then I'm sure I could have but the simple truth here is that you played as much an active role in all this as I did. Never once was my intention for anything bad to come out of this. Not once did I say, "You know what, I'm gonna set out now and do my best to get under this person's skin, really play with their emotions for my own personal ends." Not once did I see this as something to take lightly. The whole playing with emotions deal is a serious thing and a lot of damage can be done.

I think I got wound up into this web a whole lot quicker than I would've liked and yes, for that I can commend you but I can't give you all the credit. I definitely left my defenses way low down. I came into this with no fore-thought. Not a single alarm went off in my head, nothing. Whether it was me being unbelievably trusting and willing to be open or just a lapse of complete concentration, I don't know but something in my mind never really clicked for me to wade with caution. And caution for what? What's the worst thing that could possibly happen. Since when did anything bad happen to Msizi! I'm fine. I'm always fine and always will be, that's the beauty and tragedy of being me. No matter how much something truly does affect me, I'll never let on. Right now this could be seen as me showing that all of this bothered me more than I'd like to admit but on the other side of the coin, this could just be me playing a game. All of this could've been one gigantic farce. Those are two quite real possibilities. It's sad and fascinating at the same time.

It's a bit sad though innit? I mean both of us could turn around and play either one of those roles, whether it meant something or whether it didn't and the other party would accept it. Like I know you may one day read this and think, "ah this eejit is speaking trash, I said what I said that night and he forgot and now he's got the audacity to say all this!?" and in a way you'd be right to react that way but also you'd have no right to at all. Because when it comes down to it, I didn't choose to end up the way I did that night, not once did I expect for that to happen and besides that, the fact that you never once brought it up goes to show that even if it did all mean as much as you said it did, it couldn't have meant that much at all if you could suddenly turn cold to it like that. That's really all that gets to me. The whole, "Well if things don't follow this set path then it's just not it" mentality you follow. I can see how it works and such but that narrow scope is more damaging in the long run than anything and I really hope one day you see it.

I harbour no ill feeling towards you but I don't have any others. Whether you're friend or foe I do not know, I guess it depends on the day right now. We have no communication and if that's how it is then so be it, I don't feel strongly about whether we do or don't because both have their benefits and their pitfalls. I told myself to take a step back and see if anything would come from your side and nothing did and so that's that. Although that's also quite dumb of me to be making assumptions, something I so strongly hate, but sometimes you just have to go with it. For the record I kept it 100% with you, whether it was blind devotion or what, I don't know but that's what it was. I'm not upset or anything either, this post really probably won't even be seen by you and that's great. I didn't write it for that. It was just a closing thought, one I may have completely wrong, one I may not. Who knows. I just have ultimo peace right now and that's really what the purpose of this thing was. It was for me.

Anyway, I've lost my train of thought and no, this isn't some attempt to take on your character or what not, it's just my simple rant on something I can only understand, simply.

Dialogue between Oliver and Jordana after their break up.

OLIVER:- Jordana!
Jordana!
It is you.
I didn't think it'd be you. I...
I thought it'd be like a film
where the girl turns round and it's not the...
You've got a new dog. You're allergic.

JORDANA:- Oliver.

OLIVER:- Where's your boyfriend?

JORDANA:- He's not my boyfriend

OLIVER:- Your skin's looking bad, terrible.
It's probably the dog.

JORDANA:- I don't care about my fucking skin.

OLIVER:- Why on earth did you get a new dog?

JORDANA:- Because I like dogs, OK?
Why are you such a total dick?

OLIVER:- I don't know.
I was crying earlier. My eyes are probably red.

JORDANA:- They look fine.

OLIVER:- No, well, maybe they don't go red when I cry.
It happens to some.

JORDANA:- You were horrible to me.

OLIVER:- I know. I made a mistake.
I made a mistake.

JORDANA:- What do you want me to say?

OLIVER:- Ask me how deep the ocean is.

JORDANA:- Shut up.

OLIVER:- Go on, just ask me

JORDANA:- Why?

OLIVER:- Because I know the answer.

JORDANA:- Oh, do you?

OLIVER:- Yeah. I do.

JORDANA:- How deep?

OLIVER:- I'm not going to say.

JORDANA:- I'm broken-hearted.

OLIVER:- The ocean is six miles deep.

JORDANA:- Good.

Who Remembers Sunday?

So last Sunday was a treat. Well I'll say it was last Sunday for the sake of this post.

I woke up to a phone call from my mate Tyler. He had a concert ticket for that Matthew Mole guy and was willing to sell it to me for cheap. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'll hop over a thousand islands at the prospect of watching some live music. It was at Makaranga so that wouldn't be too unpleasant either - the place is like the Garden of Eden, if it was taken over by a hospitality company. It's fantastic there and I needed some fantastic feels. We managed to organise Ben a ticket too which was a stroke of genius and luck because none of this debauchery would've been as great without him.

See what happened was this. The plan was for us to leave at 12, even though the concert started at 12. We would go down with Tyler, his girlfriend Caro and good ol' Msizi Hadebe was there too so it was going to be a boss time for us all. Well being the guys we were, Ben and I decided to go off and get some beers for the journey. Makaranga isn't the cheapest place in the world so it made sense to go there feeling a little buzzed. Haha and that was our mistake. It was barely past 11am and there we were in the queue at Tops, quartz in hand, ready to drink the day away like a bunch of alcoholics. I'm sure anyone who saw us would've thought that's exactly what we were. I guess in a sense, on that day, you could get away with saying that.

We raced off to the meet up point with Tyler and barely 2 seconds after being in the car we'd started making our way through the first of our beers. Being day drunk is something I'm sure most of us are accustomed to. We've all been to festivals where the first thing you have to rehydrate yourself after a long night is a beer. You're out of milk so you use beer to get through your cereal. Oh look, your teeth need brushing so you quickly use your Black Label to help you out, it's a common thing out there in the mountains. I know people who survived solely on Black Label for a full week and functioned perfectly well. The biggest problem here was that we weren't in the mountains.  We weren't at a festival. Where we were was in the suburbs of the Upper Highway area where lots of families were coming out for a casual Sunday afternoon hang as it became clearly evident to us as we stammered up to the serpentine queue of people waiting to get in the gates. When you're in normal civilization,  you have to maintain if you want to be day drunk and so Ben and I put our best feet forward.

There was absolutely no way in hell I was going to go wait at the back of the line. I still can't tell you where it ended because after it dipped down the hill and bent itself once or twice around a few corners, I lost interest. Luckily we found someone we knew reasonably close to the front and just kinda wedged ourselves in with their party as if we'd been there the whole time. A bit of dutch courage in our bones and we'll make anything look natural. The first thing Ben decides we need to do is get beers and so off to the bar we went. The wisest decision for us was to get a bucket full of beers so we could lounge around on the grass and not have to move again. The whole point of us being there was to enjoy the music and have a good time, not get wasted in front of these poor people with their families, right?

Haha well to cut a long story short, my card got declined by the card machine because so many people were on the server so we had to go across the road to Maytime and find an ATM and by now I was feeling the effects of those downed quartz quite well. There's this thing that happens to me where if I get inebriated, so do all my devices. I tried to use the ATM and it gave me bat, claiming I had no cash, which was a lie because I'd just been paid and I was feeling mad rich. I was flipping Donald Trump on these hoes and this thing is telling me I'm suddenly a pauper, lies. Tried calling the bank but my phone wouldn't work either, it too was feeling day drank and so after an hour of waiting, I finally got the ATM to work and we were able to get our beers, lie down and listen to music. Not quite.

We went to listen to music alright, we'd found Tyler where we'd left him and Caro to get us a spot near the front and we settled ourselves in before the hordes of young parents and their toddlers could rain in and take it from us. The amount of young people there was quite astounding. I usually don't feel like the oldest person in the room when I go to most places and usually I'm not but here I was, teetering on the edge of being ancient around a bunch of knee-high grasshoppers. I even knocked over a little baby in my haste to catch up to a girl I was meaning to chat up from months ago.

That's another thing that was there in abundance; girls. There were so many girls there and quite a few that I knew. Granted most of them were just hitting 18 and with their mommys and daddys but the ones I knew were in the safe zone and that's where I stayed. After a few beers you tend to forget that there are some girls that are off limits. Mostly friends of your ex, even if they've suddenly become just about everything you find attractive in a woman at the moment, they're a no go. Tell that to drunk Msizi. My flirt game was on level 9000 and I'd be lying if I said it stopped with her. Nope, I think I flirted and got cellphone numbers of nearly every girl within a mile's radius of me who was over the legal age. Right now my phone book is full of numbers of girls I don't even know and that first week back into reality was just about me finding a way to ignore these people as efficiently as I possibly could. My dignity was like, "Hey, let's not do this" and drunk Msizi would be like, "Ok, but watch this..."  In all this I wasn't alone though. Ben and Msizi were just as active as I was and I think between the three of us, we can compile a phonebook of every girl in the Upper Highway area. I had no other intentions besides just stroking my ego. There's nothing I enjoy more than a good bit of flirting and whatever reward that comes, be it in the form of a hook up or even several, is pay for a job well done.

I can't remember what time we left or what really went on in there but I can tell you I had a fantastic time. There are so many pictures taken from there and in every one of them I was having the time of my life. The day drunkness had a tight hold of me and after we left I decided to calm down and pace myself, it was barely 4pm, the night was young. Haha but when you're being day drunk with other people, it's not really your choice.  From there we drove to Mkhulu's Tavern, a tavern in the township that I've never been to but all my friends had. I was impressed.  It was pretty boss in there and we got more beers and I'm pretty certain I got the cashier's phone number too, I was insatiable. It probably helped that she knew my friends but still. I was content with going home and just having a quiet night in with my friends and a few drinks.

But that doesn't happen in the real world. No it doesn't but I feel like maybe that's a post for another day. So much happened that day and that night that I have a thousand life lessons to take away from it. Basically what happened after that is we ended up hanging out with some people closer to our age on the rooftop of a hotel overlooking the Durban beachfront at night and for me, that's when I realised I was just done with cake lighties. I'd spent the last few hours speaking to young girls and as fun as that may be, they weren't as stimulating as the ones I was now doing somewhat illegal things with. I must say I'm a million times more grateful for that bit of realisation than any other. I know age is but a number, something I said quite a few times later that week when a band of milfs came sniffing me out and it's true but it does play a part too. With age comes maturity and that's something I saw quite clearly in the space of a few hours.

.

"Time flies when you're having fun and then it suddenly grinds to a massive halt when things go bad"

Aint that some shit, huh. Haha I don't even know where to start with this blog post.

I've just started another round of exams, just much like any other person with any desires to further their education. Usually I'm on top of this. Usually I have these things by the short and curlies and I do with them as I see fit. Usually I'm a machine. This time around though, things haven't gotten off to a good start. I arrived at my exam yesterday a whole hour early just so I could be and feel prepared. After milling for a few hours aimlessly, I was told that the exam times had been moved. Apparently we'd all been notified and all the exam times had been changed. Well that would've been brilliant if I'd been told. I went through the list of times the night before and obviously I never got the revised one. That wasn't a major train smash, I can handle such things, let's continue to greatness. Anyway, later I'm told that I needed to pay a writing fee. Now that threw me off the mark. I can work with having to wait a few more hours to get my misery over but now there was a possibility I couldn't even write because I hadn't brought in all I needed. Flip I've never stressed so much in my life. There stands Msizi, with his stupid haircut, black stupid skinny jeans and his stupid jacket hoodie combo that he thinks is the business, stressing his brain off trying to get hold of his parents and failing miserably, look at him wearing slops with jeans, cursing in foreign dialects under his breath and slowly losing his cool - what a chop. I nearly walked out of that place, I was just feeling defeated all of a sudden. Everyone has all their things set up, all bright and shiny and there I am standing in the bushes trying to make countless phone calls that weren't working out. Luckily the lady understood my predicament and we sorted something out. Seriously, she was a gem. I got in with half a minute to spare and then sat down to write my exam. Haha I don't even want to talk about it. I was so frazzled and hyped up on coffee that I can't say I can make sense of what happened in there. All in all, that was a bad day.

The bones of my post though, and something I think has played a big part in my topsy turvy existence is this, problems at mi casa. My sister had an accident a few days ago. Basically she was a real life example of those people you see on I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. To cut a long story short, she didn't know she was and took some medication that you're not meant to when you're with bun which dealt a series of complications and the baby unfortunately didn't make it. I don't know how she feels about that, I haven't yet plucked up the courage to speak to her about it but I can imagine she must be pretty upset. If it were me, I don't know how I'd react. Personally I know I'll never have kids because I'm just not father material. Let me watch over your kid for a few minutes, cool, but I can't do anything longer before I feel the sudden desire to throw things at it. I can't handle situations that have to deal with emotions or tragedies, I'm a coward. I have the emotional depth of a teaspoon and even though I try my hardest sometimes to be more accommodating and such with things like that, I just can't. I don't want to hear about how bad it is. I don't want to feel like it's my burden to bear and at the same time I don't want her to feel like I don't care. I don't know how to bridge that gap between caring brother and emotional recluse. I'm not vocal about the way I feel at all, especially when it's real. I can tell you the world belongs to you on a silver platter any time of the day when I don't mean it but please don't ask me to tell you how I really feel because I just can't, even if you really deserve it. My mom took it all quite rough. That's when it really hit. When my mom feels something, I do too. She's golden and when she's not a full golden hue, I struggle too. 

I've only really spoken to one person about all this. I told the Peen Meen. The thing I like about her is that try as she might, she's just as bad at this thing as I am. I tell her these big issues I have because I need someone who is as clueless as I am. I need someone who's gonna feel mad awkward about being told something so serious, like I do. She took it like a champ and cracked some jokes that were in heavy bad taste and I needed that because I needed to find a way to deal, I needed to work it out my own way. I hate having other people trying to work out my problems for me like I'm some child, that isn't right. That's not how I was brought up. I understand it's good to talk and get things out but sometimes I just struggle to say anything. Monday night was the first night I'd been home in a while and it really felt like I should do or say something that would take everyone's minds off of what was happening. Because I suck so much at dealing with feelings, sometimes I feel like it's my duty to help others forget theirs. I don't know who gave me this silly, jaded thought process but dammit they've screwed me over quite a bit in the long run. 

After my exam I went to a mates house, didn't care to make myself announced or anything, I just wanted to be around people who had their own issues so I could forget mine for a while. I came in, threw my stuff on the floor and when I was asked how my day was, that there was the moment I felt like if I hadn't lost my tear ducts in the war, they would've burst. I'm hella frustrated right now. Funny how I made a mental note of it. I make a note of all the times freaking out would be acceptable in any situation, it makes me feel better for being stronger than that. With school and family things going up all around me, I just feel like I need to find some time away and break from all of this. I'm no superman, I can barely keep my phone bill down. I'm only human after all.