I may have had a minor setback yesterday -only minor though.
I was flying home on my usual Tuesday evening flight and I was feeling, well, blah. Mostly just feeling a bit bloated (perhaps I need to drink more water) and a pimple was developing right on my cheek and another on my forehead –what the? I really need to not have pimples now that I’m a) 32 years old and b) spending an exorbitant amount of money on some really cool beauty therapies – but if I were go have a treatment every time I have a pimple, I wouldn’t have any skin left on my face so I really need to just STOP GETTING THEM.
So I’m on the plane and for the first time in ages, I haven’t collapsed into half slumber the moment I climb on (the 14 hour day preceding said flight has been taking it out of me of late). So, I pull out the book I’ve been carrying around for the past couple of months- just in case I felt like reading on the plane. The book is one of my all time favourites but I haven’t read it for a couple of years. The book is Mukiwa and it’s a memoir by Peter Godwin about is childhood and early adulthood growing up in colonial Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). I don’t know what it is about this book that I love so much, but when I was introduced to it 5 years ago I loved it instantly, and I loved it so much I read it through twice consecutively, before purchasing a copy of my own. Perhaps it has something to do with my own childhood desire to go to Africa, or perhaps it’s just the amazing stories that draws me to it. I have since read a number of other memoirs of colonial African children and I enjoyed them all but this particular book, well, maybe he’s just a great writer, because I never tire of it!
However, the setback came simply as a result of reading the book, which reminded me of you-know-who because he is South African, and it made me think of the stories he told me from his childhood and how I had daydreamed we would perhaps one day go back for a visit and he would take me to the places he had described, and then came the sense of loss and disappointment over the fact that if I go there, I will be going without him.
So I’ve had a bit of a slip-up, but it’s not disasterous, I’m sure I’ll get through it without sliding into all-out depression.
I just need to be a bit careful with myself and steer clear of strong reminders that are likely to upset me.
One thing that does help to keep me sane is exercise and I have not been doing nearly enough of it. Time to dust of the joggers and don the lycra and start training again, in earnest…eep!
Ok, so I apologise for yet another whiney post- I was doing so well!
After another strange development this afternoon I am feeling better- though I will not be picking up the book any time soon.
The development was that when I rang my hairdresser to get a recommendation for another hairdresser to do my hair on a Sunday – the day of my friends wedding, quite unexpectedly she suggested a hairdresser way out in suburbia- nowhere near the CBD. The significance of this was that the location of said hairdresser was the very same suburb where Mr X and his new love now reside in their newly purchased home.
Interesting, that of all the suburbs in this city, that would be the only one where my hairdresser felt there was any chance of me getting a decent up-do on a Sunday.
A) subject myself to yet another instance of being reminded, or worse, the possibility of actually bumping into them in their own hood.
B) very maturely realise that begging for an alternative nowhere near Suburb X is a much wiser option.
So I begged, and she finally suggested another hairdresser in the CBD, whom she warned sternly that she did not believe was as good. “Perhaps not” I thought to my self, “but at least I wont be tearing out said up-do as I yank fistfulls of my golden locks from my head after my brain explodes and I finally trip over the edge of the Insanity Abyss”.
I like to think that I passed the test.
…Even if I do have to suffer second-rate hair.