I’m on a bus heading to my Grandma’s place for the weekend. It’s a 40 minute ride on a bus when traffic isn’t cruel. I was at the office until well after 7 p.m., typing thoughtfully because the piece I was working on is so personal it has taken me all week to write and dwell on. I lied to Gran and told her that a female colleague will be dropping me. I know that she worries and that’s not good for her blood pressure.
Earlier this evening, I admitted to my boyfriend on Skype that I’m a cynic and that I tend to share that part of myself with fellow artists – poets and writers. I left out the why; they get it.
This week has sucked. I mixed up my dates and missed an embassy appointment – there goes the holiday in Europe I had scheduled to happen in September during my annual leave! And I’d gotten THIRTY FIVE days instead of the usual twenty one. And I’m on my period for the second time in June. I can’t believe that I just shared that on the internet, but I’m dying to be real again.
I’m already making plans to ensure that September rocks; a train ride to the coast with my girls from uni, morning jogs, shopping sprees, a hike up a mountain and leasing land for two years to grow potatoes for sale.
There’s something about the German embassy and Gran’s place. I got my first rejection letter from a uni in Munich on the 16th of July, 2012, while visiting Gran. I’m not a girly girl, but I’m girl enough to hate rejection. It makes me feel below par and needy. Which in turn leaves me with enough cynicism to run a paranoid revolution around the world for a decade. And I’m reading into things – everything – and assuming that the worst will eventually happen.
The icing on the cake is that my insomnia is back with a vengeance sharper than the remorse that burns through my self confidence every day.
Thank God it’s Friday!
I get off at the next stop, so I’m signing off.
Cheers y’all! And thanks for listening. It helps. A whole lot.